


Wine & Quill

by PiwakawakaOz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 09:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 40
Words: 41,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiwakawakaOz/pseuds/PiwakawakaOz
Summary: The Hound (Sandor Clegane) writes a drunken love/lust note to Sansa Stark.  What will she think of the letter?  Will he remember what he wrote?  Set just prior to Battle of the Blackwater.  Told POV of both.





	1. The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Maroucia's utterly brilliant "Sandor's Bloody Letter" was the inspiration for this, my first foray into FanFiction. Total credit to her for chapter 1 (although shortened by me for my purposes) and extreme thanks for granting me permission to use it when I requested last year. This can be considered a 2x FanFiction; to her and GRRM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maroucia's "Sandor's Bloody Letter" was the inspiration for this, my first foray into FanFiction. Total credit to her for chapter 1 (although shortened by me for my purposes) and extreme thanks for granting me permission to use it when I requested last year. This can be considered a 2x FanFiction; to her and GRRM.

Little bird, 

When you bumped into me you were so beautiful in that far too tight dress, the sight of your teats begging to be freed from their prison only brought water to my mouth. I told you how pretty you looked in the sun little bird, but what I truly meant was you would look sublime in my bed.

Little bird, believe my words, you really found a buggering slave in me. I’d be willing to crawl at your feet to sleep on the floor by your bed every night and be no more than a dirty rug for you to set your pretty feet upon. That is far more than you’ll ever get from any of those buggering knights you love so much, isn’t it? They kneel - that’s a fact - yet, will they crawl?

I know such confessions coming from the likes of me will overwhelm you little bird, you’ll be scared out of your wits at learning the intensity of my lust for you, but I plead don’t be for all I crave is to let you know the bliss you deserve. I hear you say that you are promised to another, yet he doesn’t deserve you or please you, so why not allow me to pleasure you? ‘But I must stay a maiden!’ you object. That’s a fucking pity, nevertheless there are ways I could please you whilst leaving you intact, as if you had never been touched and were still as pure as a bloody newborn.

I’d fucking kill an army of men to get more from you, but I’ll gladly satisfy myself being a mere dog and lick that unsoiled cunt of yours; I’d drink every last drop of your sweet juice and still have thirst for more. I wouldn’t stop there. My tongue aches to get a taste of your undoubtedly lovely little arsehole. I would nuzzle it and kiss it as softly as you dream of pressing your lips to those damned valorous knights.

Oh, I hear you complain, that’s filthy! Listen to my bloody words: nothing about the goddess that you are could ever repel me. Besides, I’m certain that little arsehole of yours is as adorable as a burgeoning flower. Even if that was all you’d ever give, I wouldn’t find it in me to complain and I’d lick it with a hunger you could never have foreseen.

Notwithstanding my eagerness to fill your little behind with my tongue, I’d also find that nervous little nub and caress it until you shook in my hands and your insides exploded in ecstasy. You would moan and squeal until you barely had a voice left to ask for more, but oh if you did I’d comply and fuck you all through the night as I know you truly long me to. No matter that you don’t realise it yet; and afterwards you wouldn’t care about that damned maidenhead of yours. No, you wouldn’t, that’s a bloody given. You really shouldn’t anyway.

Take your time thinking about my proposition, little bird, and although I’m a patient man, I won’t lie and pretend that you little bird are not all I can think about these days. You know I’ll be drinking the sight of you, watching every step you take until I hear from you.

Your obedient and ever lustful dog.

SC


	2. Sansa

She’d been asleep when the sound of a heavy thud on her door had awoken her. Sitting up with a fright, frozen in her bed. The fire lit the room sufficiently with a golden glow for her to see pieces of parchment slide under the door. By the look of the logs in the fire she knew that, although it was late, it was very far from morning. Perplexed, Sansa silently peeled back the covers and cautiously alighted from her bed, crossing the room with her heart beating heavily in her chest, she pressed her ear to the door.

She could hear someone clearly drunkenly scuff along the stone passageway, and when she was confident they were gone she gathered up the three pieces of parchment which lay at her feet and made her way to the chair by the small fireplace. Reaching for her dressing gown, sliding her arms into it and drawing it closed around herself, she lit a candle for further illumination and sat down to read the letter.

The lengthy note was addressed to ‘Little bird’ and she immediately knew its author could only be Sandor Clegane, the Hound. He was King Joffrey’s favored Kingsguard and from first meeting Sansa he had taken to calling her little bird, initially in a derogatory, fashion probably to remind her that she was trapped unknowingly, naïve and ultimately crushable. After a time though, it had on occasion become a term of endearment said in his low and gravelly voice in an almost affectionate manner.

Having sat herself down in a relaxed fashion to read, by the end of the first paragraph, … you would look sublime in my bed, she was sitting stiffly upright in her chair wide-eyed, her jaw dropped open and totally unsure whether to read any further. The words had clearly been written under the heavy influence of a large amount of wine, the script being at best legible. She absently tugged at her long hair braid and within a moment she had decided to continue. Pulling one leg up and folding it underneath herself, she dove into the second paragraph.

… will they crawl? Although the idea itself was bizarre and crudely proposed she couldn’t help but see the desperation behind the sentiment, if not its subtle romance. To think of the Hound curled up on her floor awaiting nothing but to service the warmth of her feet. It was surprising, but kind. It was not the first time she had seen kindness in him. His gruff manner was often difficult to see through but she had and more than once.

She read the third paragraph word by word. Slowly, purposefully. He wanted to pleasure me! Her body was as shocked as her mind and she could feel a lightness rise through her, as if air had been added to her blood. He spoke of leaving me intact, which was honourable, as well as infinitely fascinating.

The fourth paragraph showed how truly drunk and depraved he was. Sansa almost compulsively threw the letter on the fire, but with her arm outstretched and her fingers refusing to release the pages, she stopped. Her mind was racing, but so was her body. The lightness in her blood had turned to heat, fire almost, and her breaths became shallow. A sensation she had never before felt and it halted her in her tracks, as well as somehow pushed her forward. Slowly and uneasily she drew her hand back towards herself and read on.

… nothing about the goddess that you are could ever repel me. Again, Sansa saw the utter and complete devotion, the romance even. Why did he have to intersperse it with such crudity, such vulgarity? She knew the answer, he is the Hound. He is a drunkard, he is crude and vulgar, but she also knew he was so much more. 

He had neglected his duty towards the King and sought instead to secure Sansa’s safety the day of the riot. She had thought of it often, “You’re alright now little bird” he had lowly rasped as he lifted her from the dirt having run-through with his longsword the men who sought to rape her. She should have been mortified at him seeing her in her dishevelled state, skirts pushed up, her legs exposed, and worse her breasts bared after having her gown torn apart, but she wasn’t mortified, all she had felt that day was overwhelming relief and gratefulness for his broad shoulders and strength as he carried her weightlessly through the crowd and back to the safety of the Red Keep. 

Her thoughts turned back to the letter and she continued to read. Seven hells! - Sansa thought. He wrote of her nub and the ecstasy he would help her find! Sansa really didn’t know what to do with that thought, it engulfed her, her body responding to the mere idea. Her brain was on fire and that was not the least of it. He continued, telling her that he knew she wanted him. The audacity! But no sooner had that thought come to her mind than her inner-self reminded her that she’d been aware of her own small crush on him at some level for some time. 

For all his brutishness, the Hound intrigued her. He spoke to her with such honesty, undeniable harshness at times but always honesty. He’d often taken chances to warn her about the true nature of Kings Landing, its knights and politics. Initially she’d felt he was being cruel, taking pleasure in his attempts to crush her girlish ideals, but over time and with reflection she had seen it in truth. 

On that dreadful day when Joffrey had ordered her to be beaten and half stripped in the throne room as punishment for brother Robb’s victory at the battle of Oxcross, it was the Hound who had stepped forward and covered her shameful exposure by tossing his cape over her. Such a kindness was not to be overlooked nor underestimated and she had been eternally grateful to him. He’d also interceded when she contemplated pushing Joffrey from the ramparts. Although unspoken, she felt sure it was not as a duty to his King but as protection to her. Saving her from leaping after him in her despair at her beloved father’s death or her head being mounted next to him.

So much had happened in her time at Kings Landing. Since her father’s death it had been a prison and torturous for her. Falsely paraded to the world as a future Queen and privately tormented by the horrid King. Her skin crawled at the thought of marrying him. 

Shaking the sensation off, she started reading the letter anew. Sansa knew she should throw it on the fire, it would surely cost Clegane his head were any but her eyes to read it, but she found she could not release it, pawing over it incessantly. She slept no more that night. What was that fool Hound thinking? To have thoughts such as this is one thing, to put them down on parchment was quite another … and further, to deliver it! To give it to her was unfathomable, but here it lay in her lap and was quite tangibly real. 

As the first streams of morning light crept into her room she folded the letter and hid it safely behind a board at the back of her bookshelf. It was not a shelf that was touched by anyone but her and she felt confident it would not be found. She extinguished the candle and removed her dressing gown, climbing back into bed to await the arrival of her personal maid Shae to rouse her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this work. Please leave a review/comment - I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	3. Hound

The Hound was woken from his stupor by bird song. Seven hells those bloody birds are making a bastard racket! He slowly became aware of the reason for it, he was not behind the door of his chamber, but had instead slept against the hard stone wall of the courtyard. It was rare for him to become so drunk that he’d not make it back to his room.

He squeezed one eye open only to be assaulted by the too bright sun and saw the cursed cause of his downfall. An abandoned wineskin lay beside him having leeched its contents on to the ground around it. Curses that had been a hard-drinking night! How many skins had he downed to make his head pound so? He was a big man and could hold a large amount of liquor, but this must have been an Herculean effort.

His bladder screamed at him for relief and he stumbled to his feet so he could piss against a wall. Finding his balance, he loosened his laces, pulled his cock into his hand and allowed his head to roll back as a blissful torrent rushed forth. In unison with his bladder emptying, his mind reached for images of the night before. Lust, writing, little bird! Had he really written a missive to her expressing every lustful thought that passed through his wine soaked brain? Surely not. The next image was the worst by far - Sansa’s door, his hand leaning against it and parchment sliding beneath it!

Fuck, fuck, seven curses bastard FUCK! Had he, did he? By the seven he must have! He shook his cock of final drops, stuffing it back into his breeches, quickly pulling his laces tight. He looked towards the sun, still low in the sky - good - and by the lack of people in the courtyard there was a chance, by the seven let there be a chance! Suddenly finding a burst of energy; his blood, which he estimated to be 50% wine, pumped through his veins pushing him on as he ran through the courtyard and passageways, all the whilst pleading internally to the cursed gods old or new that the letter was somehow unread and laying at least partially exposed under the door. 

He arrived at her door. Buggering bastard fuck gods! There was not even a hint of parchment poking out from beneath it. He had no option but to knock and did so quickly before he changed his mind. Sansa came to the door, wrapped in her dressing gown. Clearly Shae had not been to her yet, good - he thought. Her eyes caste down as soon as she realised it was him. Nowt in that, he thought, she always struggled to meet anyone’s eye; demure creature that she was. He quickly scanned the floor. Nothing, bastard nothing! Not even under the small table which rested against the wall under the window to the side of the door.

Surely, if Sansa had read the letter he’d already have had the door slammed in his face? Perhaps it was just a dream? A fucking nightmare more like! She was speaking. He was so absorbed in his own throbbing head he hadn’t made out what she had said. He collected himself and spoke, the voice of someone who had drunk excessively and not spoken today. He mumbled a pardon. “What is it you want, ser?” she repeated. By the blazes what do I want? Thinking quickly, he grunted something about making sure she’d be at court on time today, that the King would require her presence. She smiled with a nod and said, “I’ll be sure of it. Is that all you require?” 

The Hound nodded his understanding, turned and walked away. As he lumbered down the passage to the stairs he suddenly became aware of his own stench. The wine was fair leeching out of his skin.

The relief was palpable. Bloody fool! What a dream, although only possessing pieces of it he’d thought he’d written some foul things to her but he can’t have. For if he had she’d surely have had something terse to say to him? He allowed his eyelids to get heavy as he made his way back to his own bed chamber breathing with great sighs of relief.

The passageways were starting to bustle and he realised he was now late in starting his own day. Once in his room he quickly stripped down and cloth-washed before putting on fresh clothes and strapping on his armour. Belting his longsword around himself, he reached for his cloak clipping it to his shoulders as he headed out the door to seek some bread and cheese from the kitchen hall on his way to his duties.

What followed was an uneventful day. A standard session in court with Joffrey hearing complaints of the district with his usual distain. Sansa was indeed at court, sitting with other ladies dutifully listening to everything. The Hound didn’t look to her as he normally would have whilst standing in his place to the side of the King, instead he allowed his armour to near hold himself upright as he sweated off the last of the wine.

He returned to his chamber after his duty. I’m not bloody drinking tonight - he thought to himself as he carefully removed his armour stacking it purposefully on a stand in the corner of his room. It was then that he saw the quill on the floor and the table splattered with pools of half-dried ink.


	4. Sansa

He’d come to her chamber just past day-break that morning. He was clearly still drunk and she thought in search of the letter. She’d notice him caste his eyes around the floor and room. His perplexed and worried countenance had quickly changed. His reason for being there, although plausible, seemed conjured and she thought perhaps that the stress behind his eyes dissipated as she continued to stand at the door. 

By the seven he reeked; the sour mix of stale wine and old acrid sweat. He was unable to hold himself in his usual statue-like stance. She had almost felt sorry for him. She doubted the possibility of him having a true nor accurate memory of the letter, or of the night before having still been in such a state so many hours later. She’d seen many a blind drunk around the castle in the past and most seemed oblivious to their behaviour the following day. So, she had stoically stood by the door acting as normally as she could. She’d become quite the mummer since her father’s death, always putting on one face in public and another in private, and always, always a particularly good performance before Joffrey and Cersei.

Her day had passed without event. First at court, where Joffrey displayed no particular need of her presence, confirming her suspicion that the Hound had been thinking on his feet for a reason to check her floor. In truth, uneventful was just how she preferred her day. Joffrey’s cruelties were a constant strain in her life and a day without humiliation was a good one. The Hound, who had been at court, hadn’t paid any attention to her, which is just as well as she doubted her ability to unabashedly take his gaze for any extended period.

She’d spent part of the afternoon at the Godswood, although she’d hastened from there when thoughts of the letter crossed her mind. It was no place for impurity and certainly no place to allow the Hound’s phrases to dwell upon her. Her loyal dog; that was perhaps the largest theme she had tried to glean from the drunken tirade. 

She’d continued from the Godswood to the Red Keep wall overlooking the port. On a beautiful day like today you’d be forgiven for thinking that Kings Landing was a pleasant place to live. The sun shone brightly on the blue sea and the sails of many merchant ships billowed in the harbour. There was a hum of people labouring below her and, as she watched, she started to allow some of the letter to float through her mind. He was her slave, he wished only to serve her, he was loyal, he’d fight for her, he’d only do what she wanted him to do; above all he was loyal. Smut aside, and there was a lot of it to push aside, the underlying theme of the letter was perhaps even beautiful. 

It was with these thoughts in mind, and whilst watching a ship sail away on the high tide, that she realised that perhaps rather than a loyal dog and lustful admirer, just perhaps, what she had in the Hound most of all was an ally. Allies were non-existent in her life in the capital. As the daughter of a traitorous father, and sister to an equally traitorous brother, she had no-one she could trust and no-one she could turn to.

What she wanted most of all was to escape from here and return to her beloved north, but she had no hope of that. Joffrey would never give up his play thing, it simply wasn’t in his selfish nature to let something go that he could so easily torment or destroy. Her future was bleak, caged as she was, never knowing when a blow she received on Joffrey’s instruction would be a blow too far. In some ways, she wished that one of the King’s henchmen would strike her the wrong way and too hard, at least then she’d be at peace.

As she made her way back to her chamber to change her gown for supper she again thought of the Hound, but this time with a smile. Perhaps her loyal dog would be her saviour?


	5. Hound

Sleep had been hard to reach him. That fucking quill! He was a man of few words on any day. In fact, his preference was no words. What in the gods had possessed him to write to her? For the life of him he could not recall what it was he had written, but what he knew for sure is that there had been mention of her teats and gods her cunt! He clenched his jaw and felt physically ill.

It is true he’d been fascinated by her since he first laid eyes upon her as a child at Winterfell, when he’d travelled north with King Robert’s caravan to request her father act as hand to the King. He’d not seen a girl so untouched by life before and it had gathered in him a feeling of wonder of what life could have been if he too had been kept safe and far from cruel realities.

That innocence had soon been wiped from her when she’d been brought back to the capital and experienced the wrath of its politics. Her innocence had long since been crushed with all she had suffered but her beauty, her beauty had not only remained it had blossomed as she reached womanhood and her teats and hips swelled. Those plump white pillows had given him many a quick release as he mused upon them. But the thought of that cunt, so close and accessible under her skirts, that had given him more. He’d rise whenever he ruminated upon it, picturing the red and golden curls of hair which were sure to surround it, its pink folds glistening, beckoning his touch. Gods - hard again for her, he thought as he quickly reached under the bedcovers to pound out a release. At least that act dulled his mind and soothed his body, bringing sleep upon him.

When he rose from his bed the next morning he was grateful that the effects on his body of his drunken escapade two nights before had finally passed, but lo the effects on his mind remained. How the fuck was he to deal with this? Or perhaps he wasn’t? She’d certainly given no indication at her door, nor at court that she was disturbed by the contents. So, maybe she’d got one paragraph in and tossed it on the fire where it belonged? He resolved to set it from his mind and carry on with his day. Besides what else could he do? He could hardly raise the matter with her? No, swept aside, that’s where it belonged. So, on with his day he went.

That night there was a gathering in the great hall. Nothing spectacular or grand, just the usual crowd of nobles, ladies and knights surrounded by food, wine and song. All fawning to the bloody wretched King. Little bird perched delicately near Joffrey’s side exuding a mix of blank disinterest and solid strength. He avoided these situations as much as he could, having little time for the bastard leeches that paraded around and no use for dances nor song. 

He found himself purloining a skin of wine and making his way into the corridors to drink in solitude. Once he’d secured himself a place in the shadows, near enough to hear a call if he were to be needed but far enough away to blot out the inane rumblings of the great hall, he leaned back upon the wall to suck on the wine, eyes shut in his boredom. 

After some time, he heard footsteps too light to be that of a man and peered out from his hiding place behind a pillar to see who it was. He immediately took in the sight of little bird scurrying towards him, on her way to her chamber no doubt to retire for the evening. Her delicate feathers looking oh so pretty tonight.

“What are you doing all alone little bird?” he gruffly said as she reached his covert. 

She sucked in a quick breath with fright, billowing those delicious pillows further. “I - I was heading to my chamber, ser” she spluttered.

“How many times little bird, not a damnable ser!” he barked, before quickly changing his tone and rumbling, “You should be escorted. Who knows how many drunken fools lurk the passages?” 

“Are you offering your services?” she replied, tilting her head so sweetly and looking him in the eye. 

“Aye, I may as well. It will take me away from those blithering turds (nudging his head towards the hall) if only for a moment.” At that she smiled briefly and continued on her way, with him silently following paces behind. As they reached her door he spoke and said, “Safe to your nest now little bird, sleep well.” 

“I will, Hound” she replied sweetly and instantly entered the room shutting the door quickly behind her.

He stood frozen to the spot, staring blindly at a knot on the door, his mind overcome with a flash, of what he wasn’t sure. It was almost pain but not. She had never called him Hound before. It was a name he was long since used to. In fact, his true name Sandor was queerer to his ear. He took no derogatory meaning from the name Hound, although he knew others meant it that way, but from her lips it had sent a shiver up his spine stirring his very core. He broke his stance, turning back to travel down the passage sucking on his wine as he went trying to discern what possible meaning this could have?


	6. Sansa

She’d been so quick to enter the room, and swing the door shut behind her, that she almost didn’t notice Shae busying herself in the adjacent bathing room preparing her evening ablutions. 

“Are you alright m’lady?” Shae had spoken with a slight air of concern when she found Sansa leaning against the closed door.

“Yes, only tired and ready for my bed” Sansa had responded moving away from the timber brace. 

Shae had lit the fire and candles, for although it was warm during the sunny days of autumn, the nights cooled significantly. “I’ll have you ready for sleep in no time m’lady” Shae had said as she’d reached behind her mistress for the laces of her gown, loosening them and pulling it down to the ground for Sansa to step out of, revealing her loose fine linen shift. 

Sansa rested on the edge of her large featherbed to slide off her own stockings before removing herself to the bathing room to wash and have her hair brushed out and braided in a simple loose braid for sleep. 

Dressed now in a fresh shift she moved across the room and gently pulled the bolt across the door as soon as Shae had left. With candle in hand Sansa quickly found her hiding place on the shelf and removed the letter. Putting the candle upon the bedside table and dropping herself on to her bed, she momentarily allowed herself to take in the soft comfort and safety it oozed.

Unfolding the sheets of parchment, she lightly caressed with her fingertips the smudged and splattered words scrawled across the pages, even lifting the parchment to her nose to see if she could discern any scent the writer may have inadvertently left behind. He hadn’t, which was probably just as well considering the imbibed state of him when writing. The words fascinated her and she was quickly losing her disgust at certain passages, instead somewhat revelling in a shared and exotic secret.

There was no doubt many found the Hound to be an ugly beast, but she had long since been able to look upon him freely, although demurely and without disgust. Half his face ravaged by flame as a child it was fortunate both eyes remained clear dark pits of intrigue. The unscarred side of his face masculine and strong, and in truth a weathered handsome, although not pretty like that of Sir Loras.

As a girl those pretty knights had been the ones she favoured, even Joffrey had caught her eye - a thought which disgusted her now - but with the coming of her flowering, and long since, she had found herself looking at men in a new light. No longer interested in the clean and perfect roses but the more rugged and robust men, with their coarse hair sprouting intriguingly on face and arms, the musky scent they seemed to leave as they passed her by and the imagined muscles they had. In truth, she’d not seen the Hound much outside his hard steel shell of armour, but she felt sure there was an interesting specimen underneath.

She had been bold to refer to him by his adopted name, and the memory brought a smile along with a finger to her lips. Had he taken any meaning from it, she pondered? She was almost sure he had, as she had noticed it took more than a moment for him to move away from the door. The thought broadened her smile. Stunning the Hound; now that was a feat not many would ever manage. He was always a strong, reserved, powerful presence, and somewhat teasing at times. Always seemingly in control of himself and ready to control any situation which should arise. 

His letter, his words revealed otherwise. A looseness, a recklessness, a lust which was becoming more exciting to her. Reading every word again she blew out the candle, clutching the pages to her belly as she allowed herself to enjoy the delicious sensations they pushed through her body. Imagining the words whispered in her ear in his low and gravelly voice as she drifted off to sleep.


	7. Hound

He’d had a joyous pull putting himself to bed that night reflecting over her teats, imagined warm cunt and, surprisingly for him, her words. ‘Hound’ escaping from her lips had been a pure and unexpected delight. The tone and word was unlikely to escape his memory anytime soon, and rolled deliciously around his head.

Waking the next morning he felt almost happy. A state completely foreign to him. He strode into his day determined to seek some subtle contact with Sansa in the hope his name would escape her lips once more.

He met his quarry as she strolled alone near the Godswood that afternoon. It was not a place many went, as the old gods had long been frowned upon in the capital, and he was more than aware of her routines. That morning his eyes had been on her as she sat in court, prettily covered in a rose hued silk. There was nothing unusual in him watching her there, he was after all a dog who would seek out a bitch. No, what was unusual was her eyes upon him. It is not as if he had never found her looking at him, and if she did he was no whet boy about it. He’d stand his ground and take the look. No, what differed today was the length of her look before returning her eyes to their usual demure downward gaze. He caught the look a second time and it strengthened his resolve to seek her that afternoon.

When he did find her, there had seemed nothing unusual about her as she slowly approached. As she reached his side intending to pass him she tripped, stumbling on the stony path and fell to one knee. His reaction was instant and he too went down on one knee facing her, grabbing her arms below the shoulders to secure her from falling further. 

She took but a moment to seemingly catch her breath before saying, “Thank you m’lord” and adding a whispered “Hound.” His eyes looked directly into hers and he couldn’t hide his perplexed look from her. As he pulled her upright she whispered again “We must talk. Will you help me Hound?” 

Dumbfounded by the interaction he nodded a quick affirmation and spoke under his breath, “Not here, I’ll find you.”

It had taken two days for an opportunity to present itself. There was yet another feast well underway in the great hall. He’d had some pulls of wine and again taken a skin to hide in the shadows of the passage. This time he ignored the need to be in earshot of commands, finding a quieter spot where he could openly see any threats and far enough away from any access points that no eyes nor ears could see him. After inspecting the surrounding area thoroughly, he hid himself behind a pillar in the dark of the dimly lit passage and rested against the wall awaiting Sansa’s approach; abandoning the wineskin on the floor having taken it for appearances sake alone.

He’d watched several people pass him as he waited for what felt like a long two hours, when he finally saw her approach alone. Good birdie, he thought. Grasping her arm and pulling her towards him into the dark he breathed, “It’s safe to talk here, but be quick.”

She was lightly panting from the small shock he had given her and he couldn’t help but imagine her breasts rise and fall with her breaths. He continued to hold her close against himself to keep her out of sight and relished their proximity as he did. Leaning his head down close to her face, so they may speak as lowly as possible, she took a deeper breath and asked “Will you help me Hound? Will you help me escape?” 

Their faces were almost touching and he took only a heartbeat to reply. “Of course, little bird.” He could feel rather than see her smile and felt her body relax at the thought of escape. He went on, “It, will take me some time to formulate and ready a safe plan, but be ready to make a move as soon as I instruct. No plan would be truly safe little bird, but I will do all I can for you. Is it north you wish to go?” 

“Yes, yes!” she whispered in return. 

“Right, you will need to leave all but essentials behind. The lighter we are escaping, the safer it will be. Little bird, it may be dangerous but you are not safe here and I never see that you will be.” He rumbled. 

“I know,” she said, “I fear for my life daily.” 

At that their cheeks did brush, as he whispered, “We will talk once more, but only once before we go. Remember, be prepared to go always.” He glanced around and pushed her into the passage before gruffly and loudly saying “Damn bird. I’ve told you not to walk on your own.” Before scooping up his wineskin and following behind her.

As they reached her chamber door she turned and looked at him saying, “Thank you.” 

“Bah,” he grumbled “a dog’s job is always to follow someone somewhere.” Turning on his heels he left.


	8. Sansa

It was hard to suppress her glow entering her chamber, but knowing Shae would be making bedtime preparations she stifled her smile. For a year she had been acting continuously. Acting content and bleating comments about her ‘one true love’ - who she hated to her core. For once she felt actual happiness and could not let it show.

As soon as Shae departed she bolted the door and started preparations for her escape. Warm clothing was essential, so she reached into the bottom of a chest to retrieve her warmest dress made from a practical moss green wool. Her mother had it made for her more than two years before when she’d left Winterfell for the capital. It had been sewn to allow extra layers of warm shifts underneath, and was plenty loose to allow for growth.

No doubt her mother had hopes of its need to return to Winterfell at some stage. Sansa suspected she had grown taller than even her mother could anticipate and when she held it in front of herself it sat disappointingly several inches above the floor. Checking the hem, she saw there were several deep folds of fabric, so she pulled out her embroidery threads and set to releasing and resewing the hem. It was not easy work in the dimly lit room, but it was not something she could risk doing in daylight. As a competent sewer, she was finished that same night. 

Sliding the dress over her shift she determined that it would do even though it still didn’t touch the floor, it was close. The same could not be said of the sleeves. There was some hem allowance there but not nearly enough. She decided that seeing to that would be her first job tomorrow night. She’d have to repurpose some fabric from something else to make cuffs to elongate the arms. An old shawl or thick velvet ribbon would suffice. She’d muse upon that tomorrow. At not quite 15 she was tall and thin, despite generous curves. She smiled broadly as she looked at the dress. It laced in the front for travelling, unlike her elegant silk dresses of court which laced at the back and required the help of a maid. 

She rifled further through the chest. Good - her travelling cloak was there, and again it had a generous hem; another candlelit task for another night. Bless her mother’s foresight. Although it was quality fabric it did not scream wealth in its subdued and practical grey. Sansa felt sure she would be travelling as a less highly ranked person so searched for shawls that were both warm and unadorned, folding the ones she selected into a black draw string purse. She came upon two pairs of brown woollen stockings which, although they had seen better days and would not go as far up her leg as they once had, they would suffice. Adding these, along with two thick shifts that had been made in Winterfell, she was feeling quite prepared. 

“Goodness!” she exclaimed and rushed to the bathing room to seek out some rags. Dealing with her moon-blood on the run would not be an easy task, but she had no choice about it and she added them to the pouch.

She turned her mind to gloves. She had an old pair of worn but hardy riding gloves and had soon added them to her stash. They would not be missed as she had a newer more elegant pair she preferred to use now. Laying her hands upon a sturdy comb and practical black velvet ribbon, she decided they too would not be missed. She had prettier things she used more readily and if the whereabouts of the plainer items were to be questioned she could say she had broken the comb and disposed of it. She knelt on the floor folding her capes and old dresses back into the little used chest giving it the appearance it had had when she’d opened it.

The boots she wore riding would be the best choice and she determined to repurpose a fur collar and hem from a childhood dress to make warm cuffs for the boots and an internal cuff for her cape.

The candle had burned down considerably by the time she retrieved the letter from its hiding place and climbed upon the bed. She again read through its words as she had done nightly since receiving it. Leaning over she blew out the candle, flopped back on to her pillow, clutching the pages to her chest and closed her eyes to reminisce about the Hound’s warm breath upon her face and whispers in her ear.


	9. Hound

Before the dawn had broken the Hound had set upon a plan. It would take a certain amount of luck but he felt sure he could orchestrate it; besides what bloody options did little bird have? If he didn’t steal her away soon he felt sure her life would take a turn for the worse with Joffrey unavoidably taking her as his wife or mistress. The war was drawing ever closer to Kings Landing too. Any maiden, let alone a pretty one, would not fare well during a sacking. The sooner she was far away the safer she would be.

Fuck me - it had been good having her body pulled close and her face closer. He could still feel her cheek brush against his and she hadn’t pulled away in fright. He’d had to keep his focus in that dark corner, ears and eyes alert to anyone coming, but now he was in his own bed he could play with the memories and sensations at will. 

He stole away from the keep as often as he could over the next few days building the plan, seeking covert assistance, all the while maintaining his appearance as the rough drinking sod he was. Little bird had played her part well too. Wincing in fright to any of his coarse remarks. Maintaining her distance from him. He was close to having everything in place. Rumours of an attack on Kings Landing grew ever louder, and then a couple of days later he was finally ready.

He’d tracked her to the path leading from the Godswood and giving her a curt nod she’d stumbled, so he could bend and help her up. “Are you ready little bird?” He’d enquired quietly.

“Yes” she replied. 

“Good” he breathed. “Meet me in the passage about 10 pm, I’ll return you to your chambers. Can you rid yourself of your maid for the night?”

“I will.” She’d whispered. 

“Feint a reason for me to check your room.” He said, before briskly pulling her up and barking, “Better you’d had wings, your damned feet don’t seem much use to you.” She’d dipped her head and scurried past him.

He’d sought his position an hour before, trusty wineskin in hand. With a battle due any day, the prevailing mood was ‘eat, drink and be merry for we all may die.’ It worked in his favour, as did the lack of love people had for him in general. People keenly avoided him and didn’t question his motives on anything. For the most part, the crowd was staying in the hall and imbibing. Whores a plenty amongst the host. She passed by his pillar as instructed and he barked at her from the shadows, “Bloody bird, I’ve told you and told you. Don’t walk alone!” 

She mumbled a nervous apology and he fell into line behind her.

When they got to the door she said clearly, “Ser, I hear a noise and my maid is not within. I saw her at the feast.” 

“Not a ser!” He grumbled, “Stand aside. I’ll take a look.” Their play was for no-one in particular as the passage was void of people. Better to be safe though. She’d followed him through the door and he reached over her head and silently pushed it closed.

“Get changed little bird. You leave immediately. Your plainest dress and cloak.” He whispered.

She worked by the glow the fireplace offered, reaching down and opening a chest, pulling her dress over the blue silk gown she already wore and drawing the laces tight. She slung a cloak over her shoulders. 

“Hide your hair little bird” he said, as he watched her swiftly move about the room. She reached for a plain scarf and tied it firmly around her head and shoulders, lifting the gaping hood of her cloak to ensure the fraud and picking up a plain silver pin to secure it shut. She dumped her jewellery in a kerchief and dropped it into her readied black pouch. Kicking off her silken slippers, she pulled on her leather riding boots. The Hound stole a quick look at her legs as she did so. 

He bent down to her and quickly whispered, “Trust me little bird. You will be placed in a sack. You will have to stay still and quiet within as it is transported to a ship and winched onboard. The captain is expecting you. He will knock on your cabin door when it is safe enough for you to release yourself from the sack, but do not rest easy. Be quiet there little bird. I will join you as soon as it is safe to, but it will take until tomorrow night. We leave upon the early morning tide thereafter. Now follow me in the shadows until we reach a more populated zone, then you may walk beside me to the stables.” 

She nodded her understanding and clutched her pouch to her chest drawing her cape closed around her. As he moved towards the door she quickly ran to a bookshelf and grabbed a small book, adding it to her bag. Opening the door, he carefully scanned the corridor, giving a small nod whilst gruffly saying, “All is well little bird. Bloody frightened of your own shadow. Good night to you.”

It had only been a few brief moments between the time they entered her chamber until the time they alighted again. Trusting the Hound’s loud exit, Sansa had quietly stepped out behind him. Heart pounding, she pulled her door shut before she scuttled into the shadows on the other side of the poorly lit passage.

She had indeed been ready - the Hound thought as he loudly made his way back to their favoured dark rendezvous. They quietly rested in the dark for a moment before moving off together, the Hound’s arm swung around her shoulders, his cloak offering her further but not total protection from being seen. He was moving as if a little drunk, not stumbling but not stepping smoothly, wine skin still in hand. 

Everyone seemed thoroughly invested in having a good time in the great hall and they saw very few people as they moved towards the stable and entered. Once there the Hound reached under some straw for a large heavy canvas sack. He held it open as Sansa stepped inside and ducked down, pulling her knees to her chest. 

“Here, keep this close” the Hound breathed as he passed Sansa a small dagger. She took it in hand without question. He then placed some old pieces of armour on top of her to distort her shape, and tightly tied the sack closed. The Hound took a deep breath and hauled the sack over his shoulder before moving to a side door of the stable and placing the sack on a waiting cart. 

The cart took off immediately without the Hound saying a word. He stepped away and into the shadows to watch the cart move across the courtyard and out of the gate. The guards not questioning a delivery cart leaving the grounds, having questioned it on its arrival an hour before. He breathed a deep sigh before lingering an appropriate amount of time for a stable shag with a wench, and returning to the hall to be seen and drink wine. 

When he made it to his bed that night he struggled to sleep. Thinking only how scared she would have been confined to a sack and bouncing uncomfortably towards the port.

The Hound was breakfasting as expected when the call went out that Lady Sansa was missing. He quickly stood up and went to report for duty. Joffrey was spitting curses on whomever had harmed his intended. No-one seemed to know at what time she went missing, her silk gowns seemingly in their right place and only Sansa and her jewellery obviously missing. 

The Hound stepped forward and told that when he escorted her to her chamber around 10 pm the previous evening all had been well. Her maid then claimed to have undressed her and seen her to bed. Bloody perfect, the Hound thought. Shae clearly having had too much to drink and knowingly neglecting her duties the night before was covering her own arse. This completely muddied the time of Sansa’s disappearance. Her maid having found her chamber unoccupied this morning. 

A thorough search of the castle and grounds were underway when the Hound suggested he make enquiries further afield and track her on the road, if it appeared that she had alighted. Joffrey agreed. “Sniff her out damn Hound, and don’t return until she is found!” He squawked. 

The Hound grunted his acknowledgement and said, “She’s likely been spirited up the Kings Road towards home, your grace, or more likely when it reaches the River Road turned towards her brother’s army.” 

Joffrey thought for a moment and said, “Go Hound! See what you can find.” 

His saddlebags were for the most part always ready except for a few minor items he threw in. Grabbing from the kitchens a decent amount of food for the road, he was making a good charade of the game. He headed to the stables and prepared his horse Stranger. It was a task he had to do himself as no stable boy was brave enough to approach it. It wasn’t long before he was passing through the city gates and heading towards the Kings Road, angrily asking questions of anyone he saw along the way. When sufficiently out of town he hid himself and his horse amongst a copse of trees and awaited nightfall. 

He couldn’t deny it was a bastard nervous wait. The day had seemed endless. From where he had secreted himself he saw other soldiers heading up the road in search of Lady Sansa, no doubt meaning to follow other routes. Finally, he judged it dark and late enough to return to town, entering the port after midnight when only drunks walked, or rather lay, upon the streets. 

His horse was quietly loaded aboard and he spent an hour in the hold brushing it down and settling it in. He waited thereafter, so as few people as possible on board would notice him. There were to be no other passengers, he’d paid the captain enough gold to ensure that. Besides, being a merchant ship there wasn’t the room for paying guests. A small boy came to him to direct him to the cabin, all crew being on deck preparing to set off with the turning tide.

He approached the door the boy had showed him, putting the proffered key in the lock and turning it. Whilst knocking softly he pushed it open.


	10. Sansa

Sansa’s heart was pounding at the sound of the key turning. She’d been sitting on the bed, dagger in hand, nervously listening to the increased activity above for the past two hours. The crew were very clearly preparing to set sail. She had known they were due to leave soon but with no sign of the Hound she was beyond terrified. How would she cope on her own? Who could she trust when she reached her destination? How would she save herself from rape before she even arrived? A constant stream of thoughts assaulted her. So, when the door did push open and he was standing there she couldn’t stop herself from leaping from the bed and into his arms, locking her arms around his neck whilst bursting into a flood of tears.

He laughed gently, holding her tight and soothed, “Hush little bird, hush.” She took quite some moments to calm herself down. Finally releasing her lock on his neck. Then there was a crash of the ship striking against the pier and a sudden lurch of motion. They were surely on their way? She thrust herself around his neck once more, this time planting a kiss upon his cheek as tears flooded anew from her eyes. 

He was gently caressing the small of her back when she calmed herself for a second time and she became aware the dagger was still clenched in her fist. Releasing him once again, he’d laughed and rasped, “Careful little bird, I have only half a face as it is.” Pointing to the dagger. Instinctively she dropped it as she took a step back. He rumbled with laughter again. Sansa thought she’d never heard such a wonderful sound. 

She stood just looking at him. He broke the silence by saying, “I suppose you are wondering what plan I have? Where we are heading?” She nodded urging him on. “This ship is from Essos. It’s plying its wares up the eastern coast - spices and the like - making its way to White Harbour, stopping along the way. Where the harbour is not deep enough to dock, they will be rowing ashore to sell wares. I’m sorry little bird, but you will have to remain caged. No-one but the captain, his lad and I know you’re aboard and we need it to stay that way. Some crew saw me arrive last night but I’m having the captain pay them well for their silence. I hid from most down below with Stranger until it was safe for the boy to bring me to you. We remain at risk little bird. One of the king’s ships could demand we stop and search us. It is fortunate this ship was not searched already, but no doubt as I had hoped they focused on getting information of ships that left on the last early tide and the afternoon tide since, no-one thinking that whoever took you would wait so long to be their way.” He snorted to himself. “I am supposed to be searching for sign of you upon the Kings and River Roads, and first headed that direction. That is why I waited until nightfall to come to you.”

Sansa stood taking in all he had said, before screwing up her face and replying, “But you will not be seen upon the Kings or River Roads in the days to come? Word of such is bound to return to Joffrey’s ear.” 

“I too thought of that, little bird. I have paid a group of travelling mummers well to spread word of sightings of the Hound in search of his prey. There will be more gold for them, held by a trusted bar keep, in a year’s time when they next return to Kings Landing - if they have done their job well. So, few know that I am not where I should be, and it is important to keep it that way for as long as we can. Besides, the war comes to Kings Landing any day, the confusion it creates will only help our cause, along with the need for soldiers and sailors to concentrate on battle, not a lost lady.” He finished.

Sansa could not help but breathe heavily. Shutting her eyes, she put her head in her hands and said, “So, my request for aid, my false trip when I first asked for your help that day on the Godswood path, it - it could not have been more fortuitous?” Privately she thought of his drunken letter and it being the root of her trust to make her request. Tears welled in her eyes and she let them flow again. 

He put his hand on her shoulder and urged her to lay down and rest, which she gladly did. She climbed upon the straw mattress and thought it could not have felt better than any feather bed, for it was taking her away from Kings Landing and all its horrors. 

She watched him as he set about hanging his white cloak across the tiny dark room forming a small alcove where the chamber pot sat, before rolling out his bedroll on the floor next to her bed. He stretched out upon it, grunting as he did so and closed his eyes. I’d be willing to crawl at your feet to sleep on the floor by your bed every night and be no more than a dirty rug for you to set your pretty feet upon - she thought as she watched him lying there. It stirred her heart to see his words come true.


	11. Hound

He lay upon the floor with his eyes shut listening to her breathing, and the vessel creak and groan, wondering at the relief she displayed in seeing his face. In his whole life, he’d never known someone to be so overwhelmed by his presence. He was used to being feared, he was used to being avoided. Even as a child people had shied away from him, not because he was a brut then, but because his face scared them. 

His burns were not the result of any illness but, just the same, people seemed to fear them spreading to themselves like a disease. For all he’d constantly been around people since joining the service of the Lannister’s, he was always stoic and alone even in a crowded room. Treated as a looming presence rather than a person. Yet, here she was openly thrusting herself into his arms. It felt like they’d spoken more words to each other in the past two nights than they ever had collectively, and he liked it.

He woke late the next morning to a knock on the door. It was the boy with breakfast for them and a bucket of warmed sea water.

The Hound dragged a small wooden tub from the corner of the dingy room and placed it behind his cape curtain. Removing his armour he stood in the tub splashing jugs of warm water over himself as he soaped himself. When he was done, he dried himself with a towel and put on fresh breeches and tunic. Pulling the cape aside he said, “Your turn little bird”.

She’d slept in her silk dress. Rising blushing she said, “You’ll need to help me with my laces.” As she pulled her hair aside and turned her back to him. 

He found himself breathing deeply as he fumbled with the laces, the motion of the ship making them lightly bump against each other. Ye Gods! I’d never have imagined myself being here! - he thought, before saying, “It’s no good. Where’s that dagger?” 

Their hands touched as she handed it to him and he gently nicked the cord, running his fingers between the laces along her spine slackening them off. Sparking a feeling throughout him. She thanked him and went behind the curtain, taking a fresh shift with her.

From where he sat he could see her long arms stretch up above the line of the cape as she went about washing herself and he allowed himself to muse upon the vision hidden from him. When she was done, she washed her thin shift and hung it up to dry. Finally reappearing, she had her silk dress back on but it hung loosely around her, its laces having been ruined. She smiled at him as they sat together at a small table to eat their breakfast, her perched upon the bed, him on a stool at the other side of the table. Their meal passed silently except for the knocks and rasps of the ship. Him more nervous than he had ever been in his life, suddenly aware of their closeness and confinement.

He finally broke the silence. “Did you get my gifts?” She tilted her head and looked at him quizzically. “I’d asked the captain to supply a few things for you.” He looked around the room and seeing a small wooden box with oranges resting upon a cloth he lifted the edge of the cloth and smiled. “For you.” He murmured, as he passed the box to her.

“Oh Sandor. Thank you!” She’d exclaimed when she removed the oranges and lifted the piece of linen. Beneath it lay a small bottle of rose water scent, some perfumed soap, needles, a small pair of scissors and at least twenty shades of embroidery thread. 

“It will be a long confinement.” He grunted. His true name upon her lips had never sounded better. It was not a name he heard often, but from her lips it sounded more charming than it ever had.


	12. Sansa

Sansa had been delighted by the gifts and immediately knew the image she wanted to portray in thread. Their days passed in peaceful routine, she stitching or reading her book. Him working upon his armour. He laboured to remove Kingsguard emblems, forcing them off with the point of a blade. Scuffing off painted colours with a stone. It was not an easy task but with persistence and time, which he had aplenty, he managed to disguise its origins. She’d watch him caress his longsword nightly keeping it protected from the salt air with a light layer of oil. 

Each night the boy would arrive at their cabin door to signal that it was safe for the Hound to go below to brush and tend to Stranger. She’d relish the private times this afforded her, as although she enjoyed his company she found she needed some time to herself.

When they were docked at Maidenpool the captain brought them word that there had been a fierce and fiery battle at Blackwater in their absence. With Tywin Lannister’s army saving the city from sacking. 

By the time they docked at Gulltown she’d had her 15th name day. The Hound had surprised her with a small lemon cake he’d had the captain procure when ashore. 

She was delighted when the Hound had taught her dice as an alternate entertainment to her stitching. They’d spent an afternoon rumbling with laughter as she learned various games. Not a lady’s pursuit, but Sansa no longer felt a lady. She was after all confined to a cabin with the Hound, hardly something a lady would allow. 

He was watching her as he lazed on her bed one day, dust catching in the sunlight as it drifted through the air giving the room a mystical hue. In truth, she loved it when he spent time there, leaving behind his scent for her to breath in that night as she floated off to sleep. You would look sublime in my bed - she thought. Words he had written about her, but a sentiment she felt equally of him. 

Fresh air filling the room from the open porthole, she sat on a stool contentedly stitching. “I still don’t know what it is you stitch little bird.” He’d said in his low gravelly voice. 

She stood up and moved to him, sitting on the bed in front of him leaning back almost on to him to show him the image from over her shoulder. “See here,” she pointed at the cloth with a smile on her lips, “these brown shades are to be a hound.” 

“And there, what’s there?” He replied, touching a patch of many colours.

“A bird.” She said with a satisfied grin, turning her head to face him. Her smile evaporated as she had looked into his dark eyes and they sat suspended in time, before he leaned in and kissed her. It had been a chaste kiss. A pleasant one, and he had pulled away apologising after a moment, but she had reached up to the scarred side of his face and said, “No need.” Then allowing him to kiss her again.

It had been a blissful afternoon of gentle kisses and delicate caresses of her waist and hips. The kisses had become more longing, stronger - and she had met the gentle probing of his tongue with hers. He started running his fingers through her long red hair, and when his boldness increased (or perhaps when he judged her boldness had increased), he gently trailed his finger along the length of her neck and collarbone before cautiously sliding it beneath the edge of her dress and allowing it to trace along her décolletage. 

Strangely the sensation, although heating Sansa beyond anything she had experienced, was not most felt where his finger trailed but instead by a strong spontaneous pull between her legs. It was then they’d been disturbed by the cabin boy delivering their meals. They had both sat eating unable to stop smiling at one another, before he headed to the hold to deal with Stranger.

When he returned he had rolled out his bedroll, taking his place on the floor before leaning up and kissing her goodnight, and dropping back to the floor again. Aware of the depth of his passions, Sansa was glad he had taken his place on the floor but excited at the prospect of more.


	13. Hound

He’d had to relieve himself with an urgent tug in the hold leaning up against Stranger the night before. By the SEVEN! - The hour or so they’ll spent kissing laying near to one another had been something outside of his experience. Whores don’t have time for such delicacies - a quick fuck, sometimes a longer one was the norm. Drunken wenches weren’t much different. He preferred to take them from behind to spare them his face. Sansa wasn’t fazed by his face. Openly looking at him and touching his scars. He found it compelling. 

He’d been even more aware of her close proximity as he stood naked taking his daily wash the next morning, blocking his mind in an effort not to harden. 

Now she was behind the cape, starting her wash when she asked him for help washing her hair. Sensing his hesitation, she said, “It’s alright. I have on my shift.” When he’d gone behind the curtain he saw her kneeling on the floor about to lean over the tub, unaware the shift was affected by the light. He could clearly see the outline of her body. Initially he was trapped in its aura, but managed to turn his head away and reach for the water jug. “It’s just a bit heavy” she said, “I’m fearful of tipping water all over the floor trying to manage on my own.” 

His first attempt at rinsing her hair failed miserably as he tried to keep his head turned away, before he’d resigned himself to look at what he was doing and poured a second jug.

She wrung her hair out in her hands and was saying “thank you” as she rose to her feet, only to look down upon herself and see her shift was now transparent in parts - most notably down her chest, clinging to the form of her breasts. Her head had tilted up to him and she caught him gazing upon the sight. Surprise on her face, she suddenly pulled the fabric from her body and nervously hunted a towel. He’d dropped the jug and bolted back behind the curtain to sit on the bed. 

“Sorry little bird, I didn’t mean to look” he said feeling ashamed. He’d seen her breasts before and more than once, but in those moments she was being terrorized - it was far from a sexual sight (although he’d often enough mused upon them in privacy since). These breasts, that had so mesmerised him in this moment, were ones he had gently touched the afternoon before. 

She appeared from behind the cape in a thick shift, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. He’d been shocked when she said, “It’s alright Hound, I know you couldn’t help it.” As she leaned forward and gently placed a kiss upon his lips.

When she stood upright again he noticed her shiver, her wet hair dripping. He quickly reached for a blanket and, wrapping it around her in an embrace, said “You’ll catch your death girl!”

Oh, that embrace felt like heaven itself. The young woman delicate and sweet smelling in his arms. He gently pulled her back towards the bed saying, “Come here and warm up.” There was no stiffness in her body as he drew her closer, turning her body so her back lay against his chest, encasing her with his arms to warm her through. 

She’d been surprising him for weeks now. Initially with her words, then with her looks and now allowing him to embrace her. He buried his face in her neck and gave her a soft kiss. After a while of laying together, he began to gently caress her hips and waist over the fabric of the blanket. He felt himself straining against the laces of his breeches and he was about to push her away (feeling that she’d become aware of the awkward bulge by suddenly stiffening in his arms) but then she did something that defied all logic, she relaxed and slowly, almost imperceptibly, pushed her bottom towards the bulge.

Oh, she was intoxicating - he took deep breaths and inhaled the scent of her. Feeling light and happy like he never had in his life. When she turned, lowering the blanket and allowed him to kiss her passionately he almost lost his wits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I welcome your review or comments.


	14. Sansa

She was so enjoying his warm embrace. Words from the letter filtered through her mind - …. all I crave is to let you know the bliss you deserve. She’d initially been nervous when she’d felt his manhood hard and brushing against her rear, but the letter drove her forward. She relaxed into him. For a man of his size he was surprisingly gentle with his touch and she felt compelled to turn around and kiss him. It was rousing to have his masculine scent overpowering her nostrils and mouth. He tasted so good, and his hands seemed to know where to be. She wanted so badly to touch him, that she allowed herself to reach under his tunic and caress his belly.

His skin wasn’t as delicate as her own, but was warm under her fingers. There was a trail of coarse hair leading down the centre of his belly. The muscles of his stomach were hard and defined. She heard a quiet groan as she lay her hands flat upon him, dissatisfied with the contact her fingertips had allowed. As she trailed her hands over his torso, snaking one hand around to his back exploring, his own hands had set upon an exploration.

She became aware of his finger lazing along the side of her neck like he had done the day before and took a deep breath in anticipation of it sliding beneath her shift. He didn’t let her down, and gently traced the top of her breasts before allowing more fingers to make contact and sliding around to gently cup her breast. By now she was breathing so heavily she could no longer maintain a passionate kiss and her head tipped back, eyes shut she heard herself groan with pleasure as his finger gently grazed her nipple. She was now lying flat on the bed and he had propped himself up on one hip watching her in her pleasure. 

“You’re so beautiful little bird.” He said, and she felt it. Every fibre of her felt it. He carried on, “But, I think we should stop now before we take it further than you intend.” She felt the breath leak out of herself with disappointment. 

She did not want to stop and found herself saying, “I want you to please me Hound. No, to pleasure me.”

“Are you sure little bird?” He lowly asked. 

“Never surer.” She heard herself say.

At that he leaned forward and started gently sucking on her breast. She felt herself sink further into the mattress, and again felt that primal tug between her legs. She could feel his other hand gently slide under the lower edge of her shift, gathering it up towards her waist as he caressed the outside of her leg. She urgently had to press her legs together as his hand got higher, not in fear, just in need. When he slid his hand around to gently open and stroke the inside of her thighs she felt her breath hitch. 

He was again propped up, admiring the view, and she opened her eyes and smiled at him. “You tell me to stop little bird. Whenever you need, just say stop.” 

She looked him in the eye and gently shook her head in response. The palm of his hand was now on her belly and she felt as if a fire burned at her core. “Is this what it’s like to find your pleasure?” She asked. 

He smiled, shaking his head and purred, “It’s only the beginning”. 

Her head was exploding. She felt so dizzy, not only at the prospect of there being more but at the lightness in her body. It seemed other worldly. Her nipples had long since hardened and she felt like her breasts may explode with every touch of them. She was overwhelmed with pleasure, so much so that she felt she may faint. She took a deep breath, slowly releasing it again and said, “I need a rest. It’s all so new, I need to slow down.”


	15. Hound

By rights he should have been disappointed when she asked for a break, but he felt bemused by her visible pleasure and confident it would not be the last time she would allow his hands freedom to roam her. He quickly smiled and said with a small unhindered laugh in his voice, “That’s fine little bird.” He flopped back on the mattress with a broad grin, breathing deeply himself. Truth be told he needed a break too. His cock was painfully constricted in his breeches and it needed to soften some to make him comfortable again. 

He turned his eyes back towards her to see her sitting upright, one arm beside herself taking her weight, her breast freely bared with shift off one shoulder, rosy nipple still budded in pleasure, her hem pushed up revealing her long pale legs and just a tantalising hint of red and golden curls.

He smiled broadly at her. She struggled to meet his gaze as she spoke. “I was just wondering, if - if, you would remove your tunic?” He didn’t need her to ask twice. Leaning forward without words and reaching over his head behind himself to grab the neck of his tunic pulling it up and off in a fluid movement, tossing it aside, he flopped back on the bed to try and meet her eye. She seemed transfixed by his chest. She was wide-eyed as he watched her allow her hand to be drawn to it.

He took a deep slow breath as she ever-so-slowly slid her hand over his chest and belly, using the back of her fingers to brush along the side of his torso. A break to go soft was a waste of time, he thought as he winced slightly with the pain of his erection, before letting out a small groan in satisfaction of her touch. She shifted her position to kneel, freeing her other hand to gain access as well. 

She smiled deeply when she finely met his eye, and slowly turned her eyes back to her task, sweeping her palms in the direction of his hair growth and stopping to inspect old scars, lightly trailing them with a finger. Her fascination was palpable. When she reached his arm and gently squeezed it, he quickly took the opportunity to show off, bending it and popping his bicep. She galed with laughter, jumping back from him slightly before shuffling forward to venture a gentle prod and laughing again.

Letting out a small involuntary yawn, she positioned herself with her head on his shoulder and snuggling into his side, arm draped across his chest and absently rolling its hair between her fingers. “This is more fun than dice.” She said.

“That it is little bird, that it is.” Was his gravelly reply. He shut his eyes and allowed himself to drift, the gentle rocking of the ship beneath them soon lulling them to sleep.

They woke when the boy knocked to deliver their lunch. The Hound rolling over her but taking all his own weight, he leaned down to lightly kiss her before heading to the door. She made no effort to dress properly, happily relaxing in her shift and shawl whilst they ate. He took her lead leaving his top off. She seemed to enjoy watching him. When the boy had come back half an hour later for their plate, the Hound took one look at her and suggested they go back to bed.

They spent the afternoon in gentle exploration, kissing and dozing in each other’s arms. After their evening meal, he headed down below in the dark to feed, water and brush Stranger. He didn’t linger, keen to get back to her company.

When he returned he picked up his bedroll and asked, “Would you like me to sleep on the floor?” 

“No.” Was her immediate reply.


	16. Sansa

She was nervous as she climbed into bed beside him. He held the covers up for her to slide underneath, turning her so that her back was against his front. For all they had happily explored each other again in the afternoon, he hadn’t pushed her past her initial limits and she was unsure whether the darkness would embolden her. 

Initially, he had just held her allowing her to feel the gentle comfort and strength of his embrace, but after a time she felt him reach for her hem and allow his hands to glide over her feet. She giggled at the tickling sensation and pressed her thighs together. She could feel his hot breath next to her ear as he began to nuzzle her neck. It sent a tingling down her spine. The hand that had been tickling her feet was now on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly before slowly sliding forward under the loose opening of her shift, gently cupping her breast and taking her already stiff nipple between his forefinger and thumb; gently squeezing in a rolling motion.

It sent a lightning bolt through her core, landing somewhere between her legs. Again, she felt compelled to squeeze her thighs together. He then reached across to give her other breast the same attention and she was glad of it; it had been crying out with neglect. She felt his hand return to her feet slowly roaming up the length of her legs, pushing her shift up with it as he went. It was then she felt his hand brush over her mound as it made its way to her belly to linger there, making playful circular motions. 

She turned herself around and he rolled on to his back as she lay half across his body to kiss him. The kiss was long and deep and he reached his right arm around her to pull her squarely on top of himself to lay facing him. He was shirtless. She was startlingly aware of his scent, his warm hard broad body beneath her, and his manhood beneath his loosened laces.

When he slid his hands up the back of her thighs and gently but firmly squeezed the cheeks of her behind she became aware of a warm dampness between her legs. Her shift was suddenly feeling a hindrance, so she moved her body helpfully when he drew it up her body, sliding her arms out as he lifted it over her head. She was propped up resting on her forearms directly on top of him, as naked as her name day and he gave her a big smile before he suddenly grabbed her waist and flipped her over to be laying on her back but still on top of him, her head resting upon his shoulder.

With her shift gone the position gave him full access to explore her body. Starting at her knees he ran his palms along the top of her thighs allowing his fingers to trace along the inside of her thighs, glancing over her mound, he smoothly and slowly ran them over her belly, crossing his hands over themselves as he reach her ribs and breasts. “You feel wonderful little bird.” He murmured as she tipped her head towards his face smiling as she breathed him in. The heat rising from his body was adding to her own and she felt at peace in his strong embrace. 

One of his hands slid back down her body and gently pulled her legs apart, one-foot landing on the mattress beside his calf. His hand again started at her knee but this time lead a trail further over her inner thigh. She could feel an excitement build as his fingers slowly grazed up her limb and gently brushed over the folds where her legs met. Making her hold her breath briefly. She could feel him breathing more deeply now, forcing short pants of hot air across her cheek, shoulder and breast as his hand lingered on her mound gently tugging at its hair. 

She needed no encouragement to part her legs further, when his hand slid back between her legs, she willingly dropped the other leg open. He elongated and parted his fingers before gently closing them again trapping the folds of her skin between them, squeezing lightly and drawing them slightly towards her, as the hand that was cupping her breast squeezed in unison. She let out an involuntary groan and arched her back, forcing her shoulders down into him.

“Are you alright little bird?” He rumbled.

“Yes.” She said, “Yes.”

He released the pressure on her folds and slowly dragged his fingers up and down the length of them, more pressure this time but still lightly. He ran two fingers down between the folds, leaving his thumb where it naturally lay before gently squeezing her again, this time between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the flesh slightly, and moving to the other side to repeat the motion. Her hips tilted on impulse grinding into his rock-hard shaft, all the while he continued to work on her breast and nipple squeezing and tugging it with more insistence. 

Now he allowed his fingers to explore more deeply into the folds, and she became aware of them becoming wet and sliding more silkily around. The sensation was powerful. He continued to massage her folds and she let out a small squeal as her hips rolled back more powerfully. 

“Still alright little bird?” He asked.

“Yes!” She replied, as his fingers dawdled and he found that nervous nub he had written of; gently rolling his thumb over it in minute circles, as two long broad fingers continued to slide and drag between her folds more deeply. Her breaths were becoming shallower - she was panting, the natural rocking of her hips more urgent. 

He stopped. “Still little bird?” 

“Still.” She replied, and he started to roll and stroke in even rhythmic movements again. He again reached a point where she let out an involuntary groan, but this time he didn’t allow it to break his rhythm. The urgent sensation within her continuing to build, gathering force, her breath catching in her chest. She pushed her head backwards hard into his shoulder as her body stiffened, her heels pushing hard into the mattress and she let out a sound she didn’t recognise when the force fully hit. It travelled throughout her body in waves. She could visualise it white hot in her mind and she yet again found herself pressing her legs together, trapping his hand where it lay. 

Once she released him, his hands gently slid around her body and she felt tiny sparks of that power travel throughout her. When the force had finally rolled over her and left her in a peaceful state, she turned to face him and saw a smug satisfied grin.


	17. Hound

OH, SEVEN she was beautiful in her release. He’d gently tortured her smooth skin and he had loved it. Once she had lay still for a while he slid her on to the mattress, rolling himself over her, easing his knees between hers, arms either side of her holding his own weight to kiss her – oh, what a kiss. It was deeper and stronger than they’d had to date, his tongue urgently and deeply probing hers. She reached her hand up to the scarred side of his face, her fingers gripping his face more powerfully than they ever had. He found himself grinding his cock into her mound and she was moaning so deliciously. 

He broke their kiss to trail kisses down her neck, before his tongue instinctively took over the task. Reaching her breast, the perfect bud of a nipple was fodder for his tongue to flick and suck so deliciously. Moving his mouth across to her other breast, he suckled upon it urgently, her body twisting and arching beneath him. 

Pushing himself backwards, he allowed his tongue to glide down the centre of her torso before firmly kissing her curly mound, letting out a low rumbling groan as he did so. He gave that enticing hill a large but light bite. Sending her into a fit of giggles. A smile breaking across his face, he sat back on his heels, reached firmly under her hips to grasp at her cheeks and pull her cunt closer to his face. The smell was so sweet, so purely feminine sex, his grin was broad as he had ever known it to be when he planted his face into it. 

His body burned as he kissed her there and he let his tongue travel between the folds. Oh, what sweetness! She was wriggling her hips with thrill and as he gently sucked her nub she squealed. FUCK he was happy. He continued to lick and gently suck at her folds before exploring more deeply with his tongue and when he slipped it inside her core she damn near screamed in delight. He probed her and licked her until he felt she could take no more, releasing her hips down on to his knees. He put his hand to his face to broadly sweep her juices into his mouth, smiling like he’d never know looking at her spent on the bed beneath him.

He reached one leg out to the floor and with a low voice said, “I’m sorry little bird, but I need to take myself in hand.” 

Standing and moving behind the cape, his back to the bed. She’d giggled when he said it, and was still lightly laughing when he took his painfully stiff cock in his hand and began to stroke. After a few strokes, he became aware of her presence standing behind him. He casually turned his body slightly to afford her a partial view. She gasped in shock. Not sure if it was a good gasp or bad, he turned away again and closed his eyes continuing his motion.

It was then he felt her nipples graze his back and her hand reach around to lay on top of the hand that was stroking. He let her feel his rhythm before sliding his hand out from beneath hers. GODS little bird upon his cock! His head tipped backwards and he groaned. She spent some moments allowing her fingers to delicately explore the length of him before intoxicatingly running a finger around and over his knob, using his arousal drop to slide smoothly over it.

“It won’t take long little bird” he said as she firmly grasped him and began to stroke in the rhythm she had felt. After some strokes, he grunted “faster” and the blessed being did. He felt his balls clench and she milked the violent surges of fluid from him. He let out a long breath. 

“Happy?” She enquired.

“Very.” He responded, as his shoulders dropped and he panted to regain his breath. He grabbed a towel to wipe his cum from its landing spots and turned to her allowing his cock to slowly deflate in her view. She was wide eyed but intrigued and he bent down and kissed her lovingly. 

“Come on you.” He said, slapping her bottom firmly and making her jump. “Back to bed with you.” He allowed his breeches to fall to the floor and stepped out of them. He climbed over her to reach his preferred spot against the wall of the cabin. Pulling her back towards himself and nuzzling into her neck. “I think you should sleep little bird - you’ve had a busy day.” He murmured. He felt her hand run over his embracing arm before she pulled his fingers towards her lips to kiss them and said, “Goodnight.”

When they awoke the next morning, his cock was stiff against her back. She had turned to him and lifted the covers to take a peek, grinning as she did.

“Careful little bird. I think it is a day of embroidery for you today.” He said. 

“Why?” She questioned with a frown. 

“Because it is a dangerous game you play.” He said resolutely. “If you want your maidenhead intact when we arrive in White Harbour and ride out in search of your banner men, it is best not to spend our days indulging our flesh. I am happy - delighted, to service your needs on occasion little bird, but the more we play, the more your resolve will abandon you.”

“Is it my resolve that concerns you, or your own?” She asked flatly.

“Yours little bird. Although, I would drown in the joy of your maidenhead, I would never take it without consent. People think me a dog, but I have control of myself.” He said with a resigned half smile.

She ran her hands over the hairs of his chest and said, “But what if I will it?”

“If you did, I would count myself the luckiest man. I already do. Look at you in my arms?” He took a moment to admire her before continuing, “It is a powerful asset for a lady, perhaps their only one. You are young little bird. It is not a decision to be taken on a whim.”

“And if not on a whim?” She said. 

He stared at her not knowing what to say, before finally replying, “How long have you mused upon it then?” Boldly she replied, “Since days after receiving your letter.” 

“My letter!” He had all but forgotten it, so busy in planning her escape. “Gods, what did I say in that letter? In truth, I was blazing drunk when I wrote it. I wasn’t even sure I had.” He rambled. “I put it down to a dream, but I found a quill and realised I must have.” Screwing his face up in embarrassment he said, “I thought I perhaps wrote of your teats, and maybe things more unspeakable, but really I don’t know. I woke in the courtyard, drunk as any other bastard would be in a gutter.” (As he spoke he found his morning erection had abandon him in shame.)

She wriggled out of bed saying, “I have it still” and went to her purse, retrieving her book. She sat back on the edge of the bed, pulling folded parchment from between the pages and handing them to him. 

He held the pages in his hands, mouth gaped open. It was a scrawling mess, and long - it was long. He immediately started reading, his skin burning in shame as he read. When he was finished he sat numb for a long while head bowed before looking to her, his eyes popping in his head, pages clutched with incredulity and said, “This – this, little bird, has given me access to your body? These words? I don’t understand, I just don’t understand. I am crude. I am disgusting.” Finally adding a growled, “I am a hound!” He sat shaking his head before adding, “And you kept it?”

She replied earnestly, “It is not those words that gained you access. It is the man you are. The man you have been to me in the past. You have helped me in dire moments. Those words were read one thousand times. I knew you were very drunk from the outset. The crudeness loses its power very quickly. The dedication remains. The loyalty remains.” Adding with a quick smile, “The lust remains. It made me feel I could trust you - and I was right. Look at where we are? Think of the conditions you took me from? Look at who you are away from that evil place?”

He could formulate no reply and simply looked at her.


	18. Sansa

She wondered if she had made a mistake showing him the letter. In fact, she felt sure she had. It had been so blissful experiencing his touch and love, and now he seemed moody and was silent. There had been no words between them since she’d explained herself. When the boy knocked they had risen, quickly throwing on their clothes and gone about their usual morning routine. 

It hurt her to know he was bathing behind the cape. Not wanting to be seen. It hurt even more when she bathed knowing he did not want to see her. 

He seemed to have nothing to say to her and she worried. In the end, she took his advice to spend the day embroidering, making good progress whilst he tended to his armour and sword. As they ate their midday meal he seemed to thaw a little and she caught him looking at her, once more watching her. In the end, it had been her to break the silence. “Have I ruined everything?” She asked.

“No, little bird. Not you. I just needed to think about what you said. What I did. What I have done to you. I worry you have cast me as one of your bastard storybook knights. I am not worthy of that, and never have been.” He said.

“You worry you have corrupted me?” She enquired.

“Yes.” Came his solemn reply.

“Kings Landing corrupted me. Cersei and Joffrey corrupted me. Life corrupted me. You opened my eyes, or at least tried to from the beginning. I wanted you before the letter. Do you realise that? Not in the lustful way you described, but I had interest in a physical way, in an emotional way. I saw you. I saw beyond what others described. Do you think me a child?” Her face was almost angry now.

“No. It is just hard to believe - to be sure of. Look at me. Look at you.” He said.

“I do look at you. I have looked at you and, even if you don’t want me to, I will always look at you. I gave up on shiny knights a long time ago. I gave up on being a Queen a long time ago. I would much rather be your goddess.” She smiled at him softly hoping he would understand.

“But your family?” He let his words hang before continuing, “We will not be alone in this room forever little bird. You are a Stark of Winterfell. A lady destined for a grand life, even if not a throne.”

“Do you think any of that matters to me now? After what I have been through? I was raised to think of duty, to serve my house, to please a husband. No-one ever told me a husband, a man, could please me. Could look up to me. In your letter, you said I shouldn’t care about my maidenhead. You were wrong. I do care. I care that it goes to someone worthy. I care that my heart goes to someone worthy. I care about me. I care about you.” She finished, pleading in her eyes.

He nodded slowly but seemed unconvinced. “Give me some time little bird. There have been a lot of words spoken. More than I am used to hearing. More than I am used to saying.”

“I have time.” She said, stepping towards him and giving him a gentle kiss, before returning to her stool to carry on her work.

When he returned to the room after dealing with Stranger that night she was sitting in her shift and shawl on the edge of the bed. He picked up the bedroll and she looked at him. “Have you thought?” She asked. 

“Yes.” He replied. She gave the silence its weight. He spoke again, “I am happy to be at your feet little bird but if you willed it, after all you have said, I would be even happier to be in your bed. To be in your life little bird.” He smiled at her.

“Good.” She said, standing looking him in the eye as she removed her shift and got into bed.


	19. Hound

It had been an emotional day. Something he wasn’t used to dealing with. She’d seemed so earnest in her desire to be with him. He’d mulled over it all. Their past, their future. Where it could go wrong, why it should go wrong? Whether he should or whether he shouldn’t? He kept coming back to the same thing; he wanted her and, against all conceivable odds, she wanted him. Not only that, she had wanted him in her own small way long before he’d been aware of it. He thought he had been giving a maiden a thrill, some experience to carry her on her way. He hadn’t realised it was deeper for her. That it was real for them both and it was a big shift to make.

When he’d returned to their room after seeing to Stranger he’d felt apprehensive. Unsure that she wouldn’t have reassessed things. When she invited him into her bed and was so sure in her stance he’d made short work of getting undressed, climbing over her to make his way to “his” side, stopping above her to give her a kiss. He’d enjoyed many of her kisses before but this one was new - the first knowing how she felt about him, and the warmth it gave him was beyond their previous kisses. He’d quickly hardened, apologising for prodding her in the stomach with it. She’d giggled and said, “My pleasure.” 

Things quickly became heated between them and she’d pushed him off her so she could admire him as he lay on his side. He knew his cock was good and strong. Never doubted it, the size he was as a man dictated it would be impressive. He’d never much cared whether it pleased anyone before, but as he lay on his side watching her look at him he felt a pang of concern that she wouldn’t like it. That she’d prefer it different somehow. 

He needn’t have worried. Her hands wandered him freely and she seemed happy to venture a touch. The burn that spread through his body was significant. She mimicked his previous touch of her, running her hand from his knee along his thigh brushing past his cock to circle his belly. He closed his eyes. She repeated the motion. This time her hand running on the inside of his thigh. The skin was more tender there, less exposed to life. Gods! Let me live through tonight! Her hand brushed his balls and they clenched in excitement. He watched as she gently toyed with them, letting a small giggle pass her lips. She’d never looked more beautiful. Her head so close to his cock clearly trying to inspect the newness of it as thoroughly as she could. He closed his eyes again.

That’s when she surprised him. She’d been full of surprises little bird. Her tongue was trailing up his shaft and she cautiously took his knob in her mouth. She hummed slightly as she rolled her tongue around its head, and he thought she must be enjoying its flavour. He knew he was enjoying her soft wet mouth encasing him. She gently caressed the shaft with her fingertips and he squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. She ventured a little more of him into her mouth and it was heaven. Not a blow job done for coin, but as good a first effort than any man could hope for given no instruction, and no hands pushing her. 

He reached down and put his hands on her head, gently grasping a fist of hair, and encouraged her up to his face. They kissed some more, her breasts brushing against his chest, then he rolled her over on to her back and took his place between her legs. She smiled knowingly when he grasped her bum and drew her cunt towards his face. She was already wet as a slippery eel in her perfect place and he relished her juices, probing his tongue between her folds, sucking gently here and there, flicking his tongue to tickle her before plunging it into her core. 

He was groaning, he couldn’t help himself. When he lifted his head, and wiped her juices into his mouth he lowly said, “Ready little bird?” 

She whispered, “Yes.” 

He lay her bottom back on the bed and leaned forward. The head of his cock resting against her entrance. “Are you sure?” He asked.

“Yes.” She replied more audibly. 

He held himself in hand as he gently pushed in. There wasn’t a lot of resistance. She’d been more than wet for him, blood surging to her womanhood in preparation. He let go of his cock as he slowly pushed deeper. She let out a guttural groan as he filled her up. Her face peaceful as she revelled in her own pleasure. He smiled to himself and slowly pulled almost full out, before gently sliding himself in again. It was the best womanhood he had ever entered. So warm it matched the fire of his cock, so wet he slid with such ease, and tightly clenched about him. Most of all it was his - his alone. 

He cautiously drew himself near out again, watching her face for signals of pain. She was managing very well. With a brief slight grimace washing over her face here and there. When that no longer became perceptible he increased his rhythm, leaning forward on one elbow his weight now pressing down on her as lightly as he could manage. Their faces were close so he kissed her, probing her mouth briefly but urgently with his tongue. 

When he pulled back slightly again from her he could see her breasts bouncing with the rhythm he was creating. Her hips had started to roll and her back was arching. He stopped briefly to flip on to his back, surprising her by the change, but not uncoupling in the process. He grasped her hips helping her find a soothing roll as he continued small motions beneath her. When she had more than found her pace, and had revelled in it a while, he slid his hand to her breast and firmly grasped her nipple, squeezing it hard. She arched back in ecstasy, her hair trailing down her back and tickling the top of his legs. 

He lifted her off himself. She was breathing heavily and fell forward on to her elbows. “Stay there, little bird.” He murmured as he positioned himself behind her stroking and squeezing her arse. He rolled his hand under her to pull her into position before gliding himself back inside her welcoming warmth. He gave her some gentle thrusts feeling her depth, before changing tempo, increasing his urgency and power. He lifted her torso towards himself so he could gain access to her breast, squeezing her nipple forcefully again. She groaned in pleasure and he let her drop forward on to her hands. Squeezing her arse lovingly as he pulled himself out and shot hot cum over her back, rubbing his still hard manhood between her cheeks and massaging her now slippery back. 

She collapsed face down on the bed seemingly spent, but he rolled her over pulling her back towards his face and tenderly kissed and licked her again briefly. When he lay her hips back down upon the bed she was clearly in as much bliss as him, and he couldn’t help but kiss her lips again, before dropping on to his side beside her to watch her slowly regain herself as he lovingly touched her belly. 

When she finally found herself again she had looked up at him with a smile. “I hope I didn’t hurt you little bird.” He said softly. 

“No.” She said, “No.” As she slowly rolled her head side to side.

They lay not talking for quite a time, before he pulled the covers over them and drew her back to his chest, a hand again fingering her belly. “Are you alright.” He asked. 

“Yes.” She said, “Perfect.”

He kept his manhood from her for a few days after that, allowing any soreness to heal. She had protested but he wouldn’t hear her complaints. That didn’t stop him enjoying the taste of her, nor she him. He basked in her glow and wondered at his luck. Her embroidery developed and he could clearly see the hound taking form, a bird beneath it and between the two a depiction of paper, a quill and a solid red heart.

He wondered about writing her another letter. He had time after all. He could describe in great detail how he planned to fuck her harder and harder, leaving her barely time to eat or drink now her maidenhead had been crushed. How every inch of his cock yearned to be inside the warmth of her cunt, her wetness dripping about it, pounding her until his balls ached and he filled her to overflowing with his seed. How her mouth, although lovely was nowhere near as enticing as the thought of his cock disappearing down her long lovely throat as he looked down upon her. How her pink perfect folds begged to be clamped. Her nipples tortured too, and there was still the matter of her undoubtedly lovely little arsehole and the delights it held?

We’ll see - he thought. Maybe he’d have the captain buy them several wineskins when next ashore, so he could find his true voice. His inner Hound. She’d like that, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed Part I. Friends requested Part II which follows. Remember your comments are greatly appreciated - they are food for my writing soul.


	20. PART II - Sansa

News of the so called Red Wedding had reached them almost immediately. Ravens were sent cris-crossing the country at speed. Their shocked recipients spreading word furiously, the blow so enormous and unforeseen by all; leaving the country outraged - except those in Kings Landing. 

Sansa had thought she’d known the depth of her grief four months before when her younger brothers had been murdered and later their ancestral home of Winterfell set alight and left in near ruin, only to be overrun again, but hearing of the brutal slaying of her mother and elder brother brought her to a new low. Many of her clansmen and banner men had also met their fates that night at the behest of Walter Frey. The loss was incomprehensible, and Sansa had felt a significant amount of guilt knowing she had been spending those same hours in blissful safe retreat with the Hound. She did not blame him for the events, of course she could not, but her happiness so starkly contrasted with the fate of her own mother, brother and so many men known to her, that it had made her feel somehow responsible or at least shameful. 

The whereabouts of her younger sister Arya had been unknown since the day of her father’s beheading, now seemingly so long ago, and her closest immediate family was her older half-brother, Jon Snow, who having taken the oath of The Black to defend The Wall was no doubt lost to her anyway. In truth, they had never been close, she taking influence from her mother on how much love, or lack of, she should show to her father’s bastard son. 

She and Sandor had discussed at length their options. The north was suddenly a dangerous place. The Starks of Winterfell had always been wardens of the north, but with Bolton men making moves against them at the Frey’s Red Wedding, and also by taking control of Winterfell, it was impossible to tell where the loyalties lay of any former allies.

Sandor had encouraged her to seek refuge in Essos. To remain aboard with him and start a new life there, at least in the interim until Westeros found some level of stability. She considered it deeply of course. He’d done so much for her arranging her escape and she did feel she should take his advice. He may not have been her lord husband in law nor before the gods, but in her heart she felt that way towards him. She could not however bring herself to abandon her plan to return to the north when she was so near to setting foot in it again. 

She was grateful when he’d agreed to protect her and continue into the north, even knowing that it was not the best plan. That he’d seen how important it was for her to at least be in the province of her former home.

When the ship had arrived in White Harbour shortly after, it was with both relief and fear that she rode out with the Hound into the dark with no real plan beyond keeping themselves hidden.


	21. Hound

His destrier Stranger was a magnificent black beast. An impressive war stallion by any man’s estimation, but the effects on him of confined enclosure at sea could not be glossed over. The Hound’s love of Sansa could only be equalled by that of his love for his horse. The Hound was acutely aware that Stranger could not be ridden any great distance immediately, particularly if expected to carry not just the towering man that he was himself, but also the weight of Sansa and their joint belongings. He had brought with him a brown woollen cloak to further disguise his now scruffy armour, and planned to blanket the animal against weather when needed with his former white cloak. His own bedroll was small enough and the captain had obtained for them a bedroll and saddlebag for Sansa, but they also now carried with them numerous animal skins, furs and food for an extended period in potentially poor weather, along with the saddlebags he normally carried.

He had of course considered having the captain procure for them a horse in White Harbour for Sansa to ride, but that would bring with it its own concerns. To care for two horses in deteriorating conditions as the winter set in, on the road and more likely off the road, with no formal sheltering at night was a worry. An unknown horse of lesser quality was simply not likely to bring them much advantage and perhaps even some greater risk. They could move more quietly on one horse. So he’d judged riding Stranger together a better solution. He was a horse who had seen many campaigns and the Hound trusted him beyond measure. Still he needed to travel only short distances for at least a week to regain his strength before they could push him. 

They had waited until nightfall to exit the ship, and so under the mantle of darkness they started their journey. Sansa riding in front of the Hound in her warmest clothes, her grey cloak wrapped around her and he embracing her from behind.

Although Sansa had been out of the north for a considerable length of time, and changed dramatically in her absence, her Tully red hair glowed as ever. He’d made sure she was careful to cover it well at all times but that did not help his own situation. He was a giant of a man at least a head taller than most, with his damnable scars and reputation making him easily recognisable throughout the entire country. He wrapped his own head and face in a scarf as wearing his helm would also draw unwanted attention. He wore as much of his armour as he dared; breast plate, shoulder plates and the like strapped over his chain mail shirt, but not his large chest and back plates which would make him seem as if going into battle – although he felt perhaps he was.

They had been able to travel on the road as no-one else had ventured out in the darkness on the now cooler northern nights. This at least meant they were able to get a reasonable distance from White Harbour before deciding to rest Stranger. Stranger had no love for any man beyond the Hound. He was known to be a thoroughly disagreeable if not a dangerous horse, but he did at least tolerate Sansa.

Finding a break in some trees they pulled off the road and explored as well as they could in the darkness. They found a small clearing with the smallest of streams running through it and were able to make camp. There was not much in the way of shelter there beyond the trees themselves but although winter was coming, it had not come yet and they were still in the lower reaches of the north. Rain looked unlikely. There appeared to be no dwellings nearby so it seemed safe enough. Once he had attended to brushing Stranger, the Hound set about gathering rocks from the stream and making a small fireplace. He did not allow them a large fire, as he did not want to attract anyone to the light, but with rocks stacked up around it he deemed a small fire safe enough. They rolled out their bedrolls alongside each other and the fire, and pulled their furs and blankets over themselves, snuggling together as best they could with him refusing to remove his light armour, keeping his sword at his side.

He knew that it would be some time before Sansa would allow him to touch her in any intimate way. In truth he did not desire her himself. Her sadness surrounded her and he felt only a need to keep her safe. When dawn broke they awoke but made no motions to move on. It did not feel sound to travel on the road during daylight and the thick woods and undulating ground which surrounded them in this particular area would make the going slow. Instead they spent the day taking in the fresh air, napping, getting accustomed to their land legs, and rinsing off as best they could the salty crust that had pervaded them.

They decided the best route would be to travel north to The Wall. It would be no easy task, but seeking out Jon Snow seemed to be the most sensible thing to do. They would need to head north towards Hornwood and pass around it with a wide berth. The decision to sweep to the west or east there would be difficult. The traitorous and murderous Bolton’s held Winterfell to the west and the Dreadfort to the east, but once well north of Winterfell they could travel on the Kings Road. That area was less populated and they would be able to relax a little until they neared the Umber castle known as Last Hearth. Under normal circumstances they could have sought shelter at any one of the castles of the north, but the Bolton’s betrayal at the Red Wedding fractured trust of all. The Hound wondered if the plan was truly feasible? There would be no inns nor mattresses for them on their journey, the risk of being recognised too great. They could only hope the weather held as long as it could. Last Hearth would be the final castle they passed before reaching the land known as The Gift, which although a neutral zone would still harbour dangers. 

If only Sansa had agreed to carry on to Essos from White Harbour, he could have protected her more easily there and they would not have had to suffer the will of the winds and weather so much, but north is what she’d wanted so north is what he would give.


	22. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Potential rape. Avoid this chapter if triggered.

The Hound had come to her an hour before darkness and handed her the small dagger that she’d carried during her escape from Kings Landing. “This is yours now little bird” he’d said, before adding “Use the bloody thing. Don’t hesitate. To hesitate is to die.” It had then become a daily pastime to spend an hour or more practicing her knife skills. Initially the dagger had held no interest for her but she soon saw how adamant he was that she not only undergoes training but she become proficient with the blade. 

He started her education by standing behind her holding her hands and showing her how to thrust from below or above. She had never understood her sister Arya’s desire to play with swords or arrows, but the more days that passed and the more skilled she became she felt the thrill and power of hitting her target. She would attack trees and bushes, although she could not bring herself to attack the Hound with the dagger itself, despite his armour and desire for her to do so. He felt no danger from her, but a stick in substitution made her fierce in her assault of him. At times they found themselves laughing, which when considering their situation – sneaking north past enemy ground – was surprising.

Once Stranger had been allowed to recuperate from their sea voyage, they had made better progress over the landscape even though only travelling at night. When unable to take roads, riding instead through the woods, their progress was fair and they had set up camp before dawn each day. During daylight the Hound would often allow no fire when he judged they were at risk of smoke being seen. The quiet and darkness of their night rides made it impossible not to dwell on the loss of her family, but during the days her grief became less overpowering. They sought the shelter of caves or rock outcrops where they could, and on one occasion even managed to find an abandoned hut, although it barely had walls or a roof it felt like a gift from the gods. They were fortunate that the autumn weather held.

When they had reached the point where they needed to decide whether to skirt to the west or east of Hornwood the Hound elected east. It was known Roose Bolton’s bastard son, Ramsay Snow, held Winterfell and they hoped Roose and his soldiers had not made their way back from the southern war as yet. It seemed the slightly lesser risk to head east in the circumstances, although how real that perception was unknown.

Over a few days they had circled past Hornwood successfully and when they had managed to get quite well north of the Dreadfort they had found a cave surrounded by trees and a small open patch of land as daybreak had neared. It seemed a perfect spot to make camp for the day, so they did. The Hound was amongst the trees laying snares in the hope of catching a rabbit to eat when Sansa had turned around to see two Bolton rangers. Her heart had nearly stopped on the spot. With only one horse nearby they had no doubt assumed she was alone. She had managed to gain her senses and reach for her dagger. They were laughing at her attempts to keep them at bay and one made an effort to swing and grab at her. He succeeded and had her up against the trunk of a tree forcing the dagger from her hand, reaching up her skirts intent on raping her. The other was finding it great entertainment. That was until Stranger reared up behind him and stomped him dead. Her would-be rapist was distracted by the scene and turned to watch in horror as his companion’s skull and body were crushed by the raging black stallion. Sansa didn’t hesitate. She scooped the dagger from the ground where it lay and came up hard under his ribs in a single blow. He’d dropped like a stone and she had then looked up to see the Hound with his sword drawn a blazing violence across his face. He had been drawn by the sound of the commotion. 

They had both stood transfixed by the bloody scene before the Hound bent down and pulled the dagger from the bastard, wiping it upon the man’s own clothing and turning the handle towards Sansa. He held it there staring straight into her eyes and she took it from him. He then spent several moments scouting the area for further danger. When he returned he stood again staring at her before grabbing her into a loving and then yearning embrace. Passion had risen in them both and she had soon found herself back up against the very same tree skirts raised, legs wrapped tightly about him, her back pushing painfully against the bark and not for one moment caring. It was a frenzied fuck like no other they had ever had. The urgency they had both felt was wholly engulfing. He pounded and pounded her hard and deep, as if he were claiming her as his own. He did not withdraw at the crucial moment as he always had before, instead letting his hot seed pulse into her and fill her with warmth. She felt possessed by him, she felt her own overwhelming power coursing through her blood having stabbed a man to death, and in the end she felt grateful for those two buggering bastard rangers and their fruitless attack because it gave her something she had missed - her Hound and a truly monumental and memorable fuck.

They’d broken camp immediately despite it being before midday, deciding that moving through the woods although noisy was preferable to staying where they were, and continuing on through the night and half the next day, and when they eventually felt enough ground was between them and those fucking men they finally made camp. They took each other with as much urgency on the ground under their furs and blankets that night as they had against that bastard tree.


	23. Hound

It was with relief that they finally reached Long Lake. It was far enough north of both Winterfell and the Dreadfort to relax a little. Although no region they had passed through since leaving White Harbour was truly populated, this was even less so. They took the opportunity to strip off completely and wash more thoroughly than they had in a long time. Sansa even took time to scrub and spread out some clothing to dry. They stayed there a full two days to rest both themselves and Stranger before moving on.

The water of the lake was freezing cold and he had felt his balls shrivel as soon as he plunged in. She had looked phenomenal, naked as her name day, breasts tight with cold glistening in the autumn sun, legs lifting up and down in the water – wanting the fresh cleanse it offered but struggling to cope with the bitter cold biting against her gorgeous mound. He had gone to her and lifted her out of the water and carried her to shore, but as they stood embracing on land she had broken free of his grasp and frolicked in the undulating green meadow in the midday sun, him chasing her but without any real intent behind it. 

When he finally decided that was enough he caught her and lay her down on the furs, leaning above her he drew her nipple into his mouth. Gods he had missed that nipple. For all they had fucked in recent days there had been no laziness to it, and so he took his time reacquainting himself with every inch of her body. He’d rolled her over on to her front so he could admire the curve of her comely behind, his tongue gently tickling her undoubtedly lovely little arsehole. When he’d flipped her back over her face held an expression of pure glee. She bewitched him, and she had leaned forward to take his rock hard cock in her mouth. He held her hair back so he could see her in all her glory, his manhood sliding enthrallingly down her throat. When he took his turn to remit the favour, he found solace in the taste of her cunt and she had writhed in the luxury of her submission, seemingly taking additional pleasure from the sensation of the furs beneath her. He had been so pleased with the taste of her juices filling his taste buds that instead of sweeping his mouth clean, as he usually did, he had kissed her mouth deeply and she had groaned in the reward of her own sweet flavour. 

When his cock eventually slid into its warm wet home he was overcome with peace. The tension and fear he had held within him every step of that northern ride suddenly dissipating and he began to achingly slowly draw himself in and out of her again in a labour to recreate that sudden sense of calm. He pushed himself upright to stand on his knees and dragged her legs up over his shoulders, grasping her buttocks and feeling her full depth as he plunged harder and harder, increasing his speed whilst maintaining a sweet rhythm. Her legs clutched around his ears, she was near hanging before him, shoulders resting on the furs, gasping and writhing with each thrust that hit home. She was a wondrous creature under his control, and he knew that he was equally controlled by her. She had eventually reached for her lower belly and, knowing at that moment she had found her undulating inner release, he allowed himself his own. His seed rushing into her depths in urgent pulsating squirts.

He knew he should take better control of himself, but having taken each other so lustfully after the attack he had simply lost the desire to keep her without child. It made no sense to be so reckless in their current circumstances, but he just couldn’t control the urge to claim her completely. Besides, it seemed to give her pleasure, a glow; as if she too yearned for that wholeness - that complete and utter faith in one another and the partnership they had created.


	24. Sansa

They had spoken so few words to each other since leaving White Harbour. She felt he had been allowing her space for her grief to sit, but slowly more words and smiles passed between them. Even if she had not had her grief, they would have spent their days in near silence as they sought to go unnoticed. The lack of conversation never worried her. His presence was enough for her and she knew hers was enough for him.

That first afternoon by Long Lake had been blissful and sensual. The sensation of the shatteringly cold water had soon been replaced by the heat of their love making and they had passed some hours in quiet conversation, naked on and under their furs. The Hound’s mood had then changed as he dressed and went about gathering kindling and fuel for a fire. He did not seem angry, he’d just become silently solemn and she wondered if she had done or said anything to cause it. 

He’d allowed them a more warming fire, whilst still shielding its glow with rocks. The heat it afforded had enabled him to roast a rabbit on its coals as the timber burnt down. As they sat in the dark she reflected that although their road had been difficult, dirty and cold she would not change it. In all her life she had been surrounded by staff and family at Winterfell, and then worse at Kings Landing and she enjoyed the solitude of their lonely travel and most of all she enjoyed him.

She was resting in his arms having finished their meal, both gazing into the fire when he finally spoke to her again.

“Little bird” he’d said in his low and soothing voice, and she looked up to meet his eye. “Sansa, I am only ever happy with you. I have only ever known happiness with you. You know I would crawl at your feet every day of your life just to be near you. I never imagined I would have you as I have, but I find myself wanting more.” She looked at him quizzically as he continued “I have no right to ask. I am no high lord you deserve, but tell me if you will accept me as your husband?”

She smiled at him softly before replying “there is no other man I would accept”. He smiled so broadly, so earnestly before reaching down to gently clasp her chin between his thumb and forefinger and angling her head so he could kiss her. They spent some time kissing softly enjoying the warmth of the fire before making drawn out love on the furs. 

She’d been surprised he had wondered if she would accept him. He’d ruined her for all others. His loyalty and love were beyond measure, and his lust for her equalled that of hers for him. She’d fallen asleep that night in his arms thinking of a litter of Hounds roaming the halls and forests of Winterfell. She knew it was unlikely they could ever return there and also knew anywhere he stood was good enough for her to call home. She felt a pang of pain knowing that had her parents lived they would never have allowed this union that was so right for her, and wondered what their future together would hold?

 


	25. Hound

He felt that they both lamented leaving the lake. It had been a special time, not unlike their shared experience on the ship, but with days drawing shorter, nights and mornings ever colder they had to push forward to The Wall. They made their way north along the eastern lakeside before finally meeting up with the Kings Road. They chose to travel in daylight as they were far enough away from both the crown’s reach and that of the Bolton’s to allow themselves some latitude. They remained alert, keeping a watchful eye for raiding parties of mountain clans that sought to rob travellers.

It was when they were fording Last River that the Hound became aware of men watching them from the trees on the opposite bank. From what he could tell it was a small group, perhaps five men. He made no motion to alert them that he knew of their presence, but whispered into Sansa’s ear. “Have your dagger at the ready my love, but keep calm. We are being watched from the woods. Mountain men.” They successfully crossed the river and heading up the road, the Hound aware the group was circling behind them. He urged Stranger on to a gallop with his heels and Stranger easily put distance between them, the men having been on foot. Once he felt safe they returned to their sedate pace. 

They were resting Stranger and eating some of their now meagre supplies. The Hound stepped out of sight to relieve himself. He was standing behind a tree cock in hand and pissing when he heard twigs snapping and shuffling of leaves. His reaction was reflexive, like taking a breath. His sword was drawn and set to slice his attacker in two, caring not that his cock was hanging loosely before him. 

He stepped softly around the large tree and saw a man transfixed by the sight of Sansa, his own sword in hand and grinning. The man said “My lord Smalljon Umber, will be happy that I have come across you! He will no doubt reward me handsomely for finding the enemy of House Bol ….” He didn’t finish his words for had seen the Hound, his eyes widened as he fumbled to gain his swinging stance to face off against a man so recognisable but the Hound’s blade had already slashed him; his intestines spilling out before him like a long slippery snake. The man was looking down upon them with disbelief, as the Hound gruffly said “Never hesitate little bird. To hesitate is to die. Bastard fool!” Then lifted his foot, giving the man a solid kick so he fell to the ground and quickly stabbed him through to finish the task. Wiping his blade of the man’s vibrant blood and worse, before turning his attention to his own cock still hanging afore him and stuffing it back inside his breeches, he said “Well at least we now know Umber has turned his allegiance to Bolton. It’s best we get off the Kings Road immediately. We’ll head west for a bit into the woods and north from there.” Sansa was still staring at the dead man, her hand clenched over her nose. “Come little bird, let’s fly”.

Bastard buggery fuck – the Hound thought. He’d grown used to the idea of travelling the remainder of the way on the road. Now having to avoid the Umber’s Last Hearth, they were again deep in the woods, covering ground more slowly with little food remaining. The small groups of mountain men he’d seen seemed little threat against an experienced soldier like himself. From what he could tell they were opportunist, and taking on a man like the Hound didn’t equate to much of an opportunity. They seemed poorly armed and no match for him. He would enjoy giving his sword arm some use though if they decided to take a crack. Of more concern was the growing cold. Sansa had always been a slim girl, but he could tell she was growing slimmer.

At least they were close to The Gift where they may be able to seek shelter from one of the scattered smallholders in the area. It was growing bitterly cold and he wrapped a fur over Sansa’s cloak and shoulders. He had felt her shivering without complaint, but he so wanted to find her proper shelter before the snow which was now starting to settle in white flurries around them became deep. They pushed on not stopping to make camp. Stanger ever dependably carrying them. At times the Hound walked alongside his horse for vast distances, to ease its load.

They hadn’t stopped in two days, beyond comfort stops for themselves and Stranger, so when they had finally reached The Gift and been able to return to the Kings Road it was a relief. Sansa had slept in the saddle on and off in his arms; and in the past half-day had spent more time asleep than awake. When he’d finally seen smoke rising from a tiny cottage he was glad. He’d carried her to the door, knocked and asked the occupants if she could rest by their fire. One glance up at the Hound, sword hanging from his waist had been enough to grant them entry. 

He’d been so pleased to have shelter at last for Stranger too in the cotter’s small stable. He brushed him lovingly, before blanketing him for the night. 

The hot meal of hearty broth the family had given them was inhaled in moments. Fresh bread equally so. A basin of warm water to wash with and towel was another treat. The family agreed to allow them to sleep by their hearth and nervously went to their beds, no doubt fearful of their safety. Although having seemingly been keen to see them on their way in the morning, when the Hound gave them a silver stag in thanks for their hospitality, they quickly offered to allow them to extend their stay further. Although not ideal, with no room of their own, a place inside on the floor by a fire was more than they had had in a long time and the Hound quickly agreed to stay another night to allow Sansa to return more properly to herself.

When they set off the following day with cheese and bread in their saddlebags, warm bones and advice on where next to seek shelter they were confident of reaching The Wall safely. The snow was a few inches deep now and crisp underfoot. It seemed to get deeper the further they travelled. When they sought shelter with the suggested cottager the man encouraged them to stay where they were. It was a more substantial cottage than the first they had stayed. There was a room with a bed they could have to themselves. It was a tiny room, dark, musty with a compacted dirt floor but the man’s wife provided them with a hot meal, and almost more importantly a wooden tub and buckets of hot water. The cottager had a teen son who knew the route to Castle Black well, so the man sent him to Jon with word of their arrival. The bed they slept in was a simple pallet with a basic straw mattress, and in truth not big enough for the two of them, but they lay their furs upon it and once bathed heavy sleep came upon them instantly.


	26. Sansa

When the man’s son finally returned more than a day later it was not with the news they had anticipated. It was a note from a Samwell Tarly, a proclaimed friend of Jon’s, who wrote that Jon was ranging north of the wall and had been gone for some months. That the area immediately south of Castle Black near Moles Town was dangerous at this time and they should venture no further. He sent his sympathies for the death of her mother and brother, and the crimes against Winterfell, but knew that Winterfell banner men House Mormont of Bear Island had declared no allegiance for Bolton and remained loyal to the Starks; so he had taken it upon himself to send a raven to them telling them to expect Sansa. He was sure Jon himself would agree with the plan had he been at Castle Black to implement it. He wished them a safe journey.

Sansa could not hide her disappointment at the news. She had been keen to see Jon, but was soon resigned to the sense of the plan and grateful Samwell Tarly had been so thoughtful. The cottagers were rewarded with gold dragons for their kindness in allowing them to spend days recovering from their previous journey, and it was with some anxiety that she ventured back out into the snow to retrace their steps south before heading south-west with the intent of reaching the coast.

It was not an easy journey with snow on the ground, sheltering once again with the friendly cotter. Stranger never failing them, walking both day and night after that until they were out of the snowy hinterland. Although still cold, they were now able to make good progress across the land towards the coast. When they first sighted the sea it was a joyous thing, and as they travelled south it was not long before they could see Bear Island in the bay. When they eventually came upon a fisherman who ferried supplies to the island, he was more than happy to take their coin. Stranger was not so happy. The boat was of course much smaller than the ship they had comfortably sailed the eastern coast in. He snorted and whinnied his disapproval often as they sailed, the boat creaking beneath them and a cold wind blowing about their heads. They were relieved to make landfall a few short hours later. When they walked Stranger up the ramp and on to land Sansa could have kissed the ground. Instead she kissed the Hound. She had been in fear for her life since the day her father died, and now she was safe. Her emotions overwhelmed her and she knew there was but one thing she wanted to do.

They were presented to Lyanna Mormont, who although a child was head of her clan. Their family sigil was of course a bear, but despite her size and age Lyanna was no cub. She oozed strength and authority, and was respected in return. She welcomed them for as long as they had need. When she’d given instruction to have chambers made ready for each of them Sansa had said “No, thank you.” The Hound had looked confused. “We require but one chamber my lady” Sansa continued, before adding “and directions to your weirwood tree.” 

As the Hound saw to Stranger’s comfort and cleaned himself up, Sansa set about bathing in scented water and preparing to marry. Lyanna offered her clean clothes for the ceremony but. as Sansa knew there would be no clothes broad or long enough to offer the Hound, she’d refused accepting instead a clean shift and saying “this simple woollen dress and cape were a final gift from my mother”. Sansa brushed as much soil and muck from them as she could manage before she made her way to the courtyard to meet the Hound.

They held hands smiling at one another as they walked to the Godswood, autumn leaves swirling about their feet. Her heart was full when she saw the weirwood tree, silver trunked and face carved upon it. When they positioned themselves in front of the tree her heart was beating strongly. The Hound wrapped his cloak around her as a symbol she would forever be under his protection. She placed her hand upon his, before suddenly reaching into her pocket with her other hand and pulling out her completed embroidery. She lay it face up, the image of a hound and bird covering their joint hands. They looked deeply into one another’s eyes as they together said the words “Before the old gods and new, I am yours and you are mine”. Sansa allowed her tears to well and flow down her cheeks. “What’s the matter little bird?” the Hound had said cautiously. “Nothing,” Sansa replied “they are tears of happiness my lord husband” and he leaned down and kissed the tears away before kissing her strongly.

They made their way back to the keep giggling at each other in their delight. The Mormont’s hall was not grand, but to Sansa it could not have been more perfect for a celebration. The Mormont’s maester added the details of the union of Sandor Clegane, second son of House Clegane, sigil three dogs, to Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of House Winterfell, sigil direwolf, married before the old gods and new on Bear Island, Bay of Ice in this year 300 into his records. Their hosts drank and ate to their health and happiness, and after quite some merriment they were sent to their wedded bed to consummate the marriage.

When the Hound had shut the door of their chamber behind him she could see nothing but love and lust in his eyes. He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her as he swung her around and thrust her upon the large bed. “But, I must take my clothes off” she protested. “Don’t you fret about that wife. I’ll have them off you in no time” was his low rumbling reply, eyes glinting with confidence that he would have what he desired.

He’d been true to his word and stripped her bare promptly, before standing and teasingly stripping himself. She lay on the bed giggling at his play, and when he was done he sat at her feet admiring her stretched out in her glory before him; his eyes moving slowly over every inch of her before warning “Watch out wife, I’m on my way – your husband intends to take you”.

He picked up her foot and held it delicately in his hands, turning it admiringly before lightly tracing his finger over each toe and slowly lifting her foot to his mouth. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he allowed his tongue to glide underneath her wiggling toes. She squirmed and smiled with delight at the tickle it made, and then he slowly sucked her big toe into his mouth. Oh, the pleasure it gave. Her womanhood heated in an instant, and her body hummed with warm enchantment. He smiled knowingly and picked up the other foot. Always generous – she thought, always treating her body fairly, evenly. When he sucked on her second big toe she almost peaked. Pace yourself, she thought this is going to be a long night, and she smiled to herself. 

As he quietly but firmly ran his palms up the outside of her legs, his tongue trailed along the inside of her leg from toe to knee. When he reached her knee he whispered “wife”. He then repeated the motion on the other leg and again whispered “wife” looking into her eyes. His tongue carried on up the soft skin of her inner thigh. Reaching the top lowly he said “of mine” his lips vibrating against her skin as he spoke. When he reached the top of her other inner thigh he kissed her softly but firmly, humming with pleasure, before shifting his attention to her folds, kissing and licking them, before gently sucking them; she was groaning with delight. She had squealed with anticipation as his mouth hovered over her nub, and he watched her as he allowed his tongue to flick around it, not touching it, and when he did finally make contact and with a gentle suck she rolled her hips back in reflex and clawed at the sheets. When he moved on to her breasts she was already yearning for his cock to enter her, but oh he was playing it slow. He massaged her breasts with one hand firmly rolling her nipples between his fingers, his other hand taking the weight of his body as he hovered above her, the heat from his skin radiating down upon her. Sansa couldn’t control the gentle rocking of her hips, her cunt was yearning for his cock. 

He’d taken her nipple into his mouth and she was losing herself. Fire burning throughout every part of her, struggling for breath. He reached across her to take a healthy gulp from a goblet of wine, and she was relieved at the respite. He then leaned down and commenced seeing to the other nipple with his mouth. When he finally kissed her lips with passion their tongues delved, exploring, twisting with urgency. The wine that he drank somehow enhanced the flavour of him. His mouth was a mix of his usual delicious masculine taste and the wonderful earthy sourness of the wine. It was a heady concoction.

She could feel his hard cock rubbing against her and she urgently reached her hips towards his seeking its contact, grasping him at his waist and using all her strength to pull him down. She failed. He was teasing it away from her, he was killing her. She could feel a large smile break across his face as they kissed and he took his mouth from her and said “Do you want something - wife?” She nodded her head firmly, her hips still chasing his. “Are you sure you want something - wife?” he enquired again. “Yes!” she called out, and he had a grin so knowing, so cock-sure confident. “Then you shall have it” he said, as he rolled off her on to his back and pulled her on top of him. 

As she slid herself slowly down on to his rod, her hands pressing down upon his belly to control her decent, she groaned, “Gods! – you are a cruel man”. “But you love me for it” came his instant reply. “I do” she said “I do” as she raised herself up and down, his broad hands clutching her hips and helping her balance. When she could no longer find her sweet satisfaction and wanted him harder, deeper she’d pushed herself up off him and rolled on to all fours, wiggling her arse at him in a come-hither fashion. He grinned and quickly bounded off the bed. Standing at the edge of it, he grasped her firmly under the belly and pulled her urgently towards himself. Lining himself up, cock in one hand as stiff as a sword he plunged into her depths in one fluid motion. “Aagh” she called out in pleasure and he started to pound her in hard and fast strokes. She was clutching the bed for all she was worth, the pounding on the perfect cusp of pleasure and pain. When he pulled her torso up to lean against his, she knew what was coming and braced herself. The hard tweak on her nipple sent her over the edge and she came strong and hard, her core involuntarily contracting and releasing, repeating the cycle in its own rhythm, clutching his manhood and milking him dry of his seed.

They fell forward on to the bed, him on top of her, both panting for breath, his weight crushing her, grounding her release. Her core throbbed out its beat until it had washed over her. He’d rolled off her and on to his back, hand on forehead saying firmly “Woman, you will kill me!” 

He reached for the goblet and took a gulp, before handing it to her. She too had gulped it back eagerly. They dragged their bodies up the bed and relaxed on to the pillows. She pressed up against his side, his arm about her, stroking her back. She caressed his belly and chest, and said “I love you”.


	27. Hound

They had slept the slumber of the dead. Exhausted from their journey, finally safe, and content in their love. Mid-morning a maid had knocked, and when beckoned to enter she nervously brought them a plentiful tray of nuts, cheeses, bread and dried sausage, along with a pitcher of honey mead. She’d gathered up all their clothing leaving them instead a clean shift and nightshirt, and offering them a bath. The Hound had been quick to accept the offer, and she soon reappeared with another maid hauling a large wooden tub and placing it before the fire. The two maids set about ferrying buckets of hot water into the room and emptying them into the tub. The Hound had been so keen to bath that as soon as he saw it half full he had stood to walk towards it; the maids turning scarlet and rushing from the room giggling with shock.

“You’ve given them something to dwell upon” said Sansa with a smirk. “Tis nowt they won’t see elsewhere” he said, brushing her off. “Oh, I think not husband – I think they will forever be disappointed now”.

He stepped into the tub and groaned with relief. The hot water soothing every muscle and ache. Sansa stood and came to him to rest carefully on the edge of the tub, reaching for soap and a cloth. She dipped the cloth in the water and lathered it, before reaching forward and scrubbing his chest. Him quietly playing with her nipple as she did. They’d smiled gently at one another before Sansa dipped her eyes to follow her hand in its task, slowly carefully scrubbing every inch of the Hound. When she stood, he leaned forward so she could scrub his broad and muscular back, her second hand tracing after the first in its path gently splashing cupped hands of water over him. The Hound doubted that he had ever had a better bath, in fact he knew it for sure when she reached under the water and grabbed hold of his cock.

He was hard within moments her slippery hand sliding up and down the length of it. He allowed her time to enjoy herself for quite a while before pushing his hands hard down on either edge of the tub and leveraging himself out of the bath. She’d squealed when he grabbed her tight his wet soapy body sliding against hers making her nipples bud so perfectly. He walked her backwards towards a rug and laid her down on the floor, taking her urgently hard and fast. She’d gasped with each thrust, her hips rocking leading him on, her arms tight around his torso, her legs wrapped about his hips, ankles crossed clenching him. He’d grunted out their rhythm, their bodies slipping blissfully against each other, and she’d taken small firm bites of him. When he was done he’d kissed her gently and stood, giving her a wink and silently returning to his bath.

She drew a stool forward and once again dipped the cloth deep in the water. With one foot upon the stool, her womanhood level with his eye, she washed herself clean of his seed. He sat so relaxed in the heat of the water and absorbed the vision into his memory. “That will keep me going” he said “if you ever kick me out of your bed, I shall close my eyes and see that vision your glistening folds red with satisfaction and my seed washing down your leg”. He’d closed his eyes and leaned his head back, to secure the vision permanently in his mind. “I shall never kick you out of my bed” Sansa replied, shaking her head gently sideways. “Never”.

Once she had dried herself, she fetched the waiting platter and returned to the stool, feeding him and herself whilst supping on the honey mead. When he’d had enough of bathing, he stood and she’d dried him lovingly. He turned and stoked the fire with logs, before taking her hand and leading them back to their bed to doze some more. 

The red faced maid returned later that day, with a hot meal for them and fresh bottle of wine. She smiled nervously at the Hound and he shot her a quick wink. She’d run from the room and Sansa rolled in the bed laughing. “If that’s all it takes to make her run in fright” she said, “imagine how she would faint if she’d received your letter?” “Ah, my letter” he growled “I do believe we haven’t explored its suggestions fully?” – as he pulled the covers over their heads and rumbled – “best we get on with it”.


	28. Sansa

Mistress Brown was a stout woman in her 40s with greying hair. She was standing in the pantry making a list of items that needed sourcing from the mainland. It was a task she undertook monthly and there was nothing unusual about it. What was unusual was the buzz emanating from a group of maids gathered in the corner of the kitchen, heads planted firmly together, stifled giggles rolling in waves as they whispered. With a guest such as Lady Sansa in the house, Brown had no time for such frivolities. There was no telling how long Lady Sansa and her new lord husband would be guests of the house and there was no way she was having reports spread when they moved on that her household staff, kitchen and food was anything other than superior. She had a reputation to maintain, and by the all the gods she would. She had been in service in this house for her entire life. Her mother before her, and her mother before that. 

She stepped out of the pantry and made her presence known. The maids immediately stiffened, giving her their undivided attention. “I don’t know what you all think you are up to?” Brown said in a stern voice, adding “There is work to be done! Now, who will go and fetch the dinner tray from Lady Sansa’s chamber?” There had been a rushed response, every girl stepping forward, jostling amongst themselves for the task, calling out “I will, mistress!” 

Brown looked at them all with consternation. “I don’t know what in the blazes is wrong with you all today?” she had said, “It’s not as if we have never had a guest here before.” Tilly stepped forward, she was an eager girl, always trying to get on Brown’s good side. She spoke - “Mistress, it’s just that – well, the lord. Lady Sansa’s lord husband that is; the one they call the Hound. Well, it’s just that he has a manhood, well more like, like” she struggled to find her words “his stallion!” she finally said. There was an outbreak of tittering laughter. 

Brown responded, an unconvinced tone to her voice - “and how would you know anything about that?” 

“Marge and I saw it, mistress. When we took him his bath.” Marge was nodding fervently nearby, her eyes wide with a shocked glaze. 

“Away with you all!” Brown ordered displeased. “Get about your business! You’re like a gaggle of children. I’ll see to our guests myself.” 

The group disbanded mumbling disappointments, whilst Brown marched from the room anger on her face. When she turned the corner away from the kitchens, her countenance changed and she strode up the passage with a twinkle in her eye and a small hopeful smile.

*****

She was happy and used to life under Lyanna’s roof, but she couldn’t help but miss the solitude she had shared with the Hound on their journey from Kings Landing to Bear Island. It had been long and difficult, but not without powerful moments to treasure. Today’s weather was overcast, but it so very often was on this island and she wasn’t about to let that stop her from trying to recapture the feeling of a moment from their past. So, having been to the kitchen to request a picnic basket from mistress Brown, she was in search of the Hound. 

He was standing in the courtyard outside the stables inspecting Stranger’s hooves when she found him. “Is Stranger well?” she asked with concern. 

“Oh, he’s fine little bird” he replied, turning to look at her. 

“Good” she replied. “Do you think he would enjoy a ride today? I had hoped we might go on a picnic.” Looking at him optimistically.

The Hound squinted in disbelief. “A ride would be good wife, but a bit bloody cold to picnic.” Shaking his head slightly. 

“Oh, that’s a shame.” She said. “I had thought we could take the furs.” Smiling as she trained her eyes upon his. 

His husky reply was immediate. “Oh, that’s a better plan little bird.”

They’d met an hour later and set off. It wasn’t the first time they’d explored the island together. The Hound knew it reasonably well from exercising Stranger. It wasn’t a place for soft men or women. You needed a hardiness about you, strength to survive not only the remoteness but the windy craggy nature of the place. The core of the island held steep terrain, the edge flatter grazing lands. It was well forested with oaks and pines, so the buildings throughout reflected that having oak beams, bracing and windows; and timber shingled rooves keeping out the rain. 

There was a good population of creatures to hunt including boars, venison, goats and grumpy mountain sheep with large curly horns, and of course plentiful supplies of fish, mussels and crayfish. Its beaches were bounded by rocks and covered in small stones, although in some bays the stones were so worn down by weather and time they could almost pass for sand. Fresh water was abundant, with streams babbling up from underground aquifers. In fact, it would be a pleasant place to live in the summer years, but in the winter brutal.

As they rode the Hound had pulled her close, whispering teases in her ear and nuzzling her neck. She could feel his hand make its way under her cloak and pull the laces of her dress undone, tucking a finger amongst them to tug the strings loose. When his hand slid into the neck of her dress and started fondling her breast, toying with her nipple she found herself saying “Easy husband, you have work to do yet. We’ll be needing a fire when we settle on a place to stop.” She hadn’t deterred him, and she was pleased.

When they looked down upon a small cove with an abandoned house set back against the trees, a small glade in front of it undulating down to some rocks and the sea below stretched out before them, she turned to look up at him and she knew that he also knew they would picnic there. She loved that about him, about them – that they so often didn’t require words.

Upon reaching the glade, the Hound swung himself off Stranger’s back. He stretched out his arms to her and she jumped. He caught her in a small embrace, giving her a loving kiss before setting her down and silently going off to find fuel for a fire. It wasn’t a difficult task, there were the remains of a wood pile next to the house. Meanwhile she set about gathering kindling and dried leaves in her skirt, carrying it to a spot overlooking the sea. Rocks were soon stacked to shelter the fire from the prevailing light wind, and they’d stood watching the sea, as the flames took hold. 

Spreading out their furs and opening the picnic Brown had prepared for them she saw apples, and took one to Stranger. He was well used to her now and no longer displayed any aggression towards her. Not that he ever really had, not like she’d seen him do to others. She was unsure if it was because of the time they had spent together or the animal understanding the esteem his master had for her. Either way, her fondness for the horse was set when he’d saved her that day.

The Hound had looked very pleased when she handed him a large slice of meat pie, its pastry crust temptingly crisp and golden, before choosing a small piece for herself. They drank from a wineskin whilst eating chunks of cheese, and when the fire was good and warm they lay down together on the furs, pulling another over themselves. 

He’d soon had her dress off and she stripped him of his shirt and breeches. They lay there for some time sharing the heat of their bodies, enjoying the sensation of their own skin against each other and the fur which swathed them. When the Hound rolled on to his back and pulled her up to lay her back on top of him she couldn’t contain her excitement and let out a squeal. 

“Oh, I do love this!” she said. “Love what?” the Hound said lowly trying to sound ignorant but allowing a smile to sneak into his voice. 

She watched his fingers run through her hair, smoothing it down so it lay hugging the curve of her side and as he did so his fingertips brushed against her skin feeding her thrill. Hearing the note of arousal in his breathing and feeling its warm gusts across her shoulder and breast, her nipples stood to attention, the fur above her adding to her bliss.

“What do you love?” he repeated quietly, as she felt his fingers lightly travel the length of her. “When you caress me so” she replied dreamily. “But, what do I do?” he queried, a knowing presence in his voice, as she felt his hands now flat palmed against her skin sliding an unbroken path over her body. “You know” she said, opening her legs as she felt a strong hand firmly working a breast and nipple; the other moving to tickle her soft inner thigh sending fizzes of delight throughout her. 

“Guess” she said firmly. “Hmm, I do wonder?” he rumbled as she felt his fingers begin to trail her folds, stroking back and forth so gently beginning their erotic massage. Trapping her between his long straight fingers, releasing and repeating, slightly dragging her forward with them as he slowly curled them with increasing pressure. “Oh, you know” she said, as her head impulsively pressed into his shoulder, her eyes closed and her hips started their own roll. 

She felt her body humming and the air seep from her lungs when his fingers dipped into her moisture easing their journey. She could feel fur exciting her from above, sending soft tingles throughout her. The heat of his hard body penetrating her from below creating a manly presence that was hard to describe; she could smell him - the sex of him and it only made her hotter.   
Feeling the form of his hard cock under her, so familiar, so pressing, so loved by her; it stirred her but she knew she didn’t want it - not now, she knew that. She wanted this, these sensations - his fingers and their massage, she could feel them now rolling the flesh of her folds between forefinger and thumb, evenly distributing pressure and pleasure, increasing it, taking her to the edge of pain but not over. 

A fold is screaming for attention, and then those fingers are there, rolling and stroking, and moving on to share the joy. It felt like he was an extension of her own being. She could feel his other hand being so generous and firm in its attention of her breasts, and gods her nipples – how sensitive they were. How did he know what her nipples needed? The thought flowed through her mind, and then she felt it there. 

His long thick finger inside her, curling up and dragging firmly against that place that excited her. His other hand still stroking her folds, its thumb now gliding over her nub in the tiniest smooth but urgent circles. Perfect - a second finger inside her now, her groans escaping like breaths. Oh those two fingers! Curling up, pressing and dragging curtly against that place, that wonderful place, in a rhythmic run. That run – heaven - she could feel herself struggling for breath, it was inciting something in her head and her chest. As it went on she thought she might die – but no, it’s coming - there! 

Her peaks hit in unison; one from her nub, radiating out from itself in an intense flash, and one from her core which hit not only where his two fingers worked their delicious run but her brain, her entire body white hot power, blinding. The dual hit overpowering, initially thrusting her body stiffly back and then impulsively curling her forward into a ball as she lay on her side on top of him and yielded to their reverberations. 

“Gods woman!” The Hound exclaimed. “Your inners near tore off my fingers! It milks them still. It will find no seed there. That’s to come.” He said deeply, smiling knowingly as he kissed her neck.


	29. Hound

He was more than ready to fuck. It wouldn’t be a long one – not after that magnificent display. She was ripe for the taking, and his hard cock begged to be inside her. It seemed it would be cruel to her though. She was so overcome, unready for the pounding he so badly wanted to give her. So he held her in his arms and let her rest, his own word playing through his mind as she lay there. 

Seed - he thought - seed. When had she last bled? She’d bled on the run, beaten rocks on rags in a stream not long after they first left White Harbour - but since, had he noticed since? She certainly hadn’t kept him from her any night since they’d wed. He was going soft just thinking about it. Not because he disliked the idea of her being with child; his child. More that it was an almighty big idea. Her a mother - him a father! Seven hells! 

She had started working on his manhood. Distraction – he thought, good idea. He allowed himself to sink into the sensation. Her gentle hand and fingers, the furs, the cool wind about his head, her warm wet mouth around his knob, her contented moan as she tasted that pearl of moisture that leaks from the tip of his cock - yes, he was back in the moment cock hard. Her tongue now trailing his belly, her lips upon his nipples, licking, sucking sweetly, nibbling ever so carefully, licking again, bites of his flesh, her own nipples scraping against him. The memory of her cunt milking his fingers of its own accord - ready to ride! 

He rolled her over on to her back and entered her warm wet satisfying womanhood. A few slow pokes to imbibe the sensation; the warmth, the wetness – gods she was wet - the ridges, the soft grasping hug of her walls making him feel like his cock was a god. Oh her cunt was paradise itself. He could feel his pleasure calling him, urging him to pound, to increase his pace. Pumping, pumping, pumping. His pleasure calling again for him to rub up against her until he set her aflame – pumping, pumping. He pulled himself out. 

“On your knees” he pleaded desperately and quickly she rolled over getting on all fours. That arse, what a vision. Hearing their mutual groans of satisfaction as he slid himself back home. Yes, that was home. That sensation again; the warm wet hug - deeper, better, yes deeper. Her soft moaning was delicious, encouraging, empowering. Quicken your pace. Cool air about him, but also the fire – fierce heat radiating towards him, but not surrounding him. She’s losing her breath, breathing hard, moaning more, empowering him more, wanting him more. Faster, harder – it’s there, within his grasp. Harder – so close. Harder – so fucking close. Harder - balls clench, and there! Erupting into her - his seed. Seed! Seven hells – fucking seed!

Heart racing, reaching for breath, squeezing her arse – that comely arse between his fingers, sparks of pleasure still, softening within her, breath coming now, lungs settling. Catching my breath, warm buzz of my peak. Fucking seed on my mind. Rubbing her back, it arches for me still. Fucking seed on my mind.

Watching her come back to herself he couldn’t help thinking what if there is a child there, within her; growing, forming? 

She was speaking now – he missed it. “What did you say little bird?” he asked. 

“Í was just looking at that house. Do you think Lyanna would let us take it? She said, her head turning up to try and see him.

“I don’t know” he replied, still focussed on the buzz in his blood and the seed on his mind.

“It’s not too far from the keep,” she said “so you could still go there and train men in warfare or help when they needed your strength. Stranger would enjoy the ride to and fro. It would be nice to be on our own again.” 

He looked at the house tilting his head. “Put some clothes on then.” He said, pulling his hips backwards to let his cock slide out. With a smile on his face he slapped her arse and said “Let’s take a look. Handover some more pie first, and some wine. I’ve built up a hunger.”

The house was in reasonable repair. Although it definitely had an abandoned air. You could tell more by what wasn’t there than by what was. Minimal firewood was stacked in the shelter. The smell of horse or mule dung didn’t hang in the air. The straw which was scattered in the small stable was old and there were no fresh bales stacked in readiness for winter. No chickens wandered the pasture. There were no footprints caught in the soil, nor tools hanging under the porch.

They pushed the door open and he ducked his head to enter. A table remained, but no other sign of life. It was a reasonable size room with a large stone fireplace to the right of the door they had entered. It was a good hearth for cooking and heating, and at the other end of the room two doors leading to two small rooms. The windows about were only small, but plentiful enough to let in light and few enough to keep out the cold of winter. 

Sansa was speaking again. “Wouldn’t this be better than maids interrupting us? To be on our own? We can have a chair there by the fire.” She was pointing, excitement building in her voice, continuing – “I could take lessons in cooking from mistress Brown. You yourself have already taught me a few things about cooking when we camped. We could feast at the keep when you tire of what I prepare for you or when we want company. To be on our own would be lovely, wouldn’t it?” Sansa finished. 

The Hound wrapped his arms around her and said lowly “That it would little bird, but I don’t think we’ll be on our own.” She looked at him with curiosity. “Why?” she asked. “Because I think my seed is quickening within you” he said as he kissed her.

 


	30. Sansa

He’d been right that day, when they first saw the house, about the quickening. The maester had examined her and confirmed it. She was excited. A pup to the Hound. The first of many, she thought. Being with child made her miss her mother terribly. She wanted her advice, but she also knew in her heart that her mother would have found no joy for her. She would never have accepted the Hound as her daughter’s lord husband, and she almost certainly would have either put a stop to the match or disowned her.

Lyanna had agreed to them having the house. The southern war had robbed it of its former occupants. The master of the house having died, his wife no longer able to face the memories the house held and instead going to live with her sister on the other side of the island. 

Sansa had been determined to restore its heart. She spent hours sweeping, scrubbing the floors and washing down the walls. The house didn’t truly afford many options for placement of furniture and they didn’t have much, but she’d been resolute that every item sat at its best possible aspect. They had a good large pallet and a decent straw mattress, and with their furs laid upon it would make a comfortable bed. An old wooden chest had been given to them in which to store their clothes, and it made an equally good place to sit and look out of a window. Sansa thought she may even paint some decoration upon it one day. 

The beautiful rocking chair Lyanna had gifted them excited Sansa the most. She so looked forward to sitting upon the Hound’s lap as he sat by the fire, or her nursing their child gently rocking back and forth. The kitchen table of course was old but sturdy and it added some spirit to their room. With the addition of a couple of stools and a long wooden bench seat they could even serve meals to guests. That is if someone wanted to be a guest at their table. The cooking lessons weren’t going wonderfully well, but mistress Brown was equally stubborn about teaching Sansa as she herself was about learning. 

Not all that long ago she’d lived in a castle and was promised a life as a Queen and now she was happier than she could imagine, or had ever been, readying a small house with her husband Hound. He had set about tidying the stable, preparing it for Stranger, sourcing tools and equipment for daily life. He’d chopped a prestigious amount of firewood. That was a task Sansa enjoyed watching him do. His shirt off sweat glistening from exertion, his muscles taught and popping alluringly, the thud of the axe hitting home, the occasional grunt, the way he tossed the wood like it weighed nothing at all. Yes, he made a handsome sight, and it often made her distract him from his task.

Before long the house was organised and they rode Stranger there together to begin their life in their own home. As always the Hound’s first task had been to groom Stranger. They had discussed getting her a horse of her own, but with winter on the doorstep feeding one horse well would be task enough. Sansa had managed to cook a basic meal that first evening serving it with bread Brown had provided for them, and the Hound praised the meal as if it were a feast. She thought he may change his attitude soon when he tasted bread of her own making. Her efforts at the keep had been more like rocks, but mistress Brown remained eager to help her improve her skills so that could be worked upon over time when Sansa visited her.

As Sansa climbed into bed that night it was with a deep sense of satisfaction and belonging. The Hound snuggled behind her holding the small curve of her belly. For a man that was used to swinging a longsword, he certainly seemed to accept their simple routines. They’d pick mussels from the rocks at low tide for soups or eating straight from the shell. He’d cast out a long line when they wanted fish, and had tracked and killed a boar, drying and salting the meat they couldn’t eat fresh. 

The Hound did still get to swing a sword of course, but a training one. Preparing the men of the area for war should it reach them or the banners be called. Children swarmed about him as if he were a god. The towering Hound, a former Kingsguard no less and on the run from the crown. A spellbinding idea to children. They delighted in trying to take him down with a stick. He put up with it for the most part, sometimes falling in mock death, occasionally snarling at them to give them a hint of his reputation. Sansa loved watching. She had immense pride in her husband.

The happiness they had built so solidly crumbled so quickly. The Hound had gone to the keep at dawn one morning and Sansa had begun to feel unwell almost immediately - cramping, which turned to bleeding. By the time the Hound had returned that afternoon the bleeding was heavy and she was beside herself with fear. He’d scooped her up in his arms, wrapped her in a cloak and ridden her as fast as he could to the keep. She could feel the tension in his body, his immense worry as they rode. He’d barked so severely at everyone in the courtyard when they’d arrived. Ordering they fetch the maester and prepare her a room. He even left Stranger in the care of a petrified stable boy, not willing to put her down or leave her side. 

They’d spent a week there, in their former room, her recovering her strength. It brought her so low, losing their child. Her tears had flowed for days for the baby they would never have, and at nights she knew his did too. 

When they returned to their home they were both numb and silent.


	31. Hound

He’d never believed in the gods. Folks wasted their buggering breath praying to them. They’d never done him any bloody favours that he could see, nor many bastard men about him neither; excepting that Sansa loved him. That had to be the work of the gods. 

The night little bird lost their child he found himself wanting, no needing, to go to the Godswood. In the darkness of the night he’d fetched Brown to sit with little bird as she slept, and made his way in the blustering wind to the weirwood tree. Her blood still upon his clothes, he thanked the old gods and the new for delivering his wife from this crisis. That extreme gratefulness didn’t stop him yelling angry curses at them the next moment for taking their child. 

He’d seen their child in his mind many times over the previous weeks, he’d seen the future they would have as a family and the bastard fuck gods took it from him, from them, in one afternoon. It had been a torture to ride with her in his arms, knowing that there was nothing he nor anyone could do. Not knowing if the bleeding would stop or if she would die in his arms. To watch the maester put his head between her legs, where no man but himself should ever be, had been such a torment. He wanted to rip him away and pound him into the ground with his fists, but equally he wanted him there to see; to say something, anything that would change what was happening. 

He’d kicked every tree in the Godswood until he felt spent. Until he’d yelled every curse into the wind and cried every tear. That’s what he’d thought he’d done at least, until he returned and dismissed Brown. He’d climbed into bed with a sleeping Sansa and rested his hand upon her empty womb and his tears had flowed again.


	32. Sansa

It was the first time they had coupled fully, since they lost their child, and Sansa was wild at him. At the point of his peak he had pulled himself out and cum on her back. She’d leapt off the bed and given him a hefty shove, face screwed in anger. He hadn’t refused her his seed in such a long time. Gods, not since before that bastard tree and it felt like an insult. Like she was not worthy to bare his fruit. She’d taken her dressing gown from where it hung behind the door and stormed out of the room. Him stumbling naked behind her not understanding what he’d done wrong.

She was pacing the living room, trying to gather her wits – her cloak, she needed her cloak, she needed out. She’d grabbed it and thrust it around her shoulders but he was now standing before the door barring her exit.

“What’s the matter?” he was imploring her.

“What’s the matter? What’s the bastard matter?” She yelled in his face, and swung away from him, her head in her hands thumping her temples, before turning back to him. “You! You, are the bastard matter! I have sought your affection, your attention for the past two moons, and you have brushed me away. Denied me.” She planted her two hands on his chest to give him another shove. He took the shove, face covered in confusion, but caught her wrists when she attempted another. “And now, now you finally allow me your cock - you deny me your seed! Am I not good enough for you now? Am I damaged? Not a woman? Not your wife!” She’d spat the word with venom, but the tears forming in her eyes betrayed her. She was struggling against his grip.

“I haven’t denied you, or brushed you away. We have been intimate.” He said confused, letting go of her wrists.

“Not your cock” she said, shaking her head and pointing at it with distaste. “Not your buggering cock. Never in me!” Turning away from him, tears now flowing, she continued. “It’s been three moons since I lost our child, and you won’t give yourself to me or forgive me for it. You don’t seek me fully. You don’t want me.” She finished, stepping away to sit at a stool by the table, her back still to him.

“Little bird, I do want you. I want you so very much.” He said earnestly, pleadingly.

“Then why won’t you take me?” She replied turning around to face him.

He stood formulating his thoughts, his words and quietly replied. “I am scared little bird. I am scared, Sansa. I thought I had killed you that day. That bastard day when the gods took what we’d made. I don’t want to … no, I can’t lose you.” He stood, looking at her eyes wet himself.

It broke her. It broke her anger to see his eyes well. It broke her heart. “But you didn’t do anything to me? It wasn’t your fault.” she said softly.

“It felt like it. It feels like it.” He replied moving a little towards her, urgently trying to explain. “We’d been so happy, and I planted my seed. My fucking seed and you bled Sansa, you bled in my arms.” The horror of it plain on his face.

She understood now. It was not that she was broken nor unworthy. It was that he was broken. They silently looked at one another. 

He moved cautiously to her and took hold of her hand, getting down on one knee. “I want you little bird. I will never stop wanting you. We just need some time. Time to get back to ourselves, back to each other.” 

His eyes level with hers were searching her face when he finished. Trying to gauge her reaction and desires she thought. 

Breathing more calmly now. She put her other hand over his. “I never left.” She said. “Not every quickening gifts a child. Our loss was great, but I can’t lose you too. I want us as we were. As intimate as we were, in every way.” She watched him shut his eyes and slowly nod his head. Understanding her.


	33. Hound

Gods, he did love a good morning piss. It was a thought that had often occurred to him standing on the edge of the glade, looking out to sea with his cock in his hand shooting forth a strong stream of steamy piss getting shattered by the wind and sprinkling like golden rain. Yes, that feeling of owning the whole world that was laid out before him and pissing upon it. It was magic, simply magic. 

He’d risen early to see to Stranger, milk their cow and bring a plentiful supply of firewood into the house. The weather had been threatening to close in for two days. With the ominous sky and wind howling the way it was, surely today would be the day that the sky burst open and pissed upon them all. He didn’t plan on going to the keep. Inside in the warmth amusing himself with little bird seemed a much better option. 

“Good morning mistress Clegane” he’d said when he returned to the house with an armload of wood. “Wonderful morning isn’t it?” He grinned.

“Good morning” she said with a confused look upon her face, before saying “What makes it so wonderful? The wind is wicked out there and there is bound to be a torrent of rain.” 

“Precisely that good wife. It will be no day to venture outside, and we shall have to play inside.” He finished, a teasing smile curling his lips, “I shall fetch more wood so we shall be snug for days.” He went back outside.

It was dim inside, but the fire shed a gentle glow that illuminated enough to make the room both cosy and inviting. Sansa was frying sausage, some potato and eggs for him in a large skillet over the fire. The tasty smell wafting and adding to the homeliness of the room. When the Hound returned he stacked the wood carefully in an alcove next to the fireplace, and sat at the table to await his hearty breakfast.

“Think yourself lucky” Sansa said, placing a plate before him. “Had I known you weren’t riding to the keep in this weather, it would have been porridge for you.”

“Oh, I know I am lucky little bird” he said softly smiling at her.

It had taken them a while to get back to themselves, after their loss. Even after she demanded his manhood, his seed. He’d struggled with it, to let go of the fear, but that was behind them now. They were back to their happy selves, and somehow stronger for it.

He ate his meal, and when he was done he pushed his stool back so he could lean against the wall to watch her knead dough as she prepared the day’s bread. She had dustings of flour on her face where she had wiped wisps of hair from her eyes. Her apron was smeared but she didn’t look a mess, she looked in control. A confidence in her own skills having built within her. She was even more womanly now, a softer curve in her belly and breasts. It suited her.

When she was done kneading she set the dough aside on a small side table away from the draught to rise and, wiping her hands of flour, set about chopping vegetables and meat for a stew. 

The clouds had broken open now and the rain was thrumming loudly on the roof above them. After a while she spoke. “Why don’t you read a book by the fire?” she was asking. 

“I’d rather watch you. You do it all so well now.” He said smiling proudly at her.

“My cakes could be better.” She said, adding “I still haven’t found a gentle hand.”

He looked at her with a licentious eye and with a low rumble said “Come here. I’ll help you find your gentle hands.”

She laughed, and then shot back a lusty look. Wiping her hands clean, he watched her remove her apron and step towards him raising her skirts. He tried to catch a glimpse of her womanhood as she lifted her leg and straddled him on the stool, squirming to make herself comfortable. He felt her hands clenching his face as she gave him a deep kiss, before leaning herself backwards and running them down his torso. Tugging at the laces of his breeches and freeing his manhood. She smiled, raising one brow, when she found him semi-erect and took him in hand before suddenly stopping, leaping up and moving away. 

“Uh, where are you going?” He said disappointed. “Just wait” she said. 

She was at the kitchen table now, cutting a knob of butter and placing it in her hand. Closing her hand around it, she returned to again lift her skirts and straddle him. Leaning back, she took his manhood in her buttered hand.

“Ah, seven gods! He exclaimed. Her hand was firmly clenched about him and starting a slow stroke. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he leaned more fully into the wall, his hands gripping her buttocks and kneading them, before returning his eye to avidly watch her work him. The quiet squelching of the butter and its heat in her hand adding to his excitement, his intense pleasure.

“My cunt wants you now.” She whispered, a rough undertone of arousal in her voice. “Make it wait.” She breathed in his ear.

He was so hard as she stroked he thought his balls would break. She let go of his cock and moved her hand under his balls, it soothed him. She cupped them and let the grease glide over the skin, her fingers gently toying with the orbs beneath. Her hand was back on his shaft, but just two fingers. Thumb and forefinger tightly encircling the base, small movements, back and forth, twisting around. Then her whole hand slid up him firmly grasping the shaft as if she owned it. Longer strokes, up and down – heavenly, oh that rhythm, sliding perfectly up and down. 

She cupped her fingertips running them over his knob, and lightly stroking where it met the shaft. With one finger she took his arousal drop. He was mesmerized as he watched her poke out her tongue staring directly into his eyes and firmly run the finger down the centre of it. Putting one of her feet solidly on the floor, she lifted herself to standing and glided her cunt down over his cock.

“Oh, you are the best wife.” He said, groaning in pleasure. He was contracting his cheeks, squeezing releasing. It wasn’t long until he increased his pace to sharp bursts, his hips tilting as he did. Squeezing, repeating, squeezing, repeating. She had set off an itch and he needed to scratch. 

He stood up, coupled to her, her legs now clutching his waist, her arms wrapped about his neck. He took two steps to the table, sweeping aside the vegetables, he lay her down. He stood pushing in deeply, easing that itch. Sliding back and hard in. Again, back and hard in. Back and hard in. Her groans imploring him, his itch screaming at him, his own grunts making him pound more fiercely; hard, hard, hard. The table rattling and sliding beneath them, grasping for her breast to ground them both, thrusting hard, hard, hard. The pounding of the rain adding to their urgency. The itch, the itch – fuck, the itch. He was overpowered by his need, pounding her hard, hard, hard – it’s there - oh, the ecstasy of their release! Her cunt milking his seed – content as fuck. 

Catching his breath, he looked down upon her in her heated glow. She was beauty itself - flour still smudged on her face, her cheeks inflamed, her countenance peaceful, her breasts flushed and pillowing up from the confines of her dress as she took shallow breaths. Laying spent on their table her legs hanging down, skirts pushed up around her, golden curls on display, folds hot and shining. 

He bent down and kissed her womanhood – its buttery perfection drawing his tongue.


	34. Sansa

“What bastard fool would go out in this weather?” the Hound had exclaimed going to the door.

The urgent knocking had Sansa’s heart thumping, and she’d rushed to the lad as soon as the door opened, pulling him in to be by their fire. The smell of wet wool instantly filling the room, water pooling on the floor beneath them. Reaching around him and removing his cloak, she asked him “What is it boy?” 

The boy was puffing, trying to speak through his shivers. “There was a boat. This morning my lady. From the mainland. It’s Jon Snow. On the boat he was – Jon Snow is here.”

Grabbing some towels, she started rubbing the boy’s head, and looked towards the Hound. “I’ll see to the boy’s horse and ready Stranger. We’ll head off as soon as his horse is watered and fit to return.” He said, reaching for his cloak and walking out the door.

Sansa sat the boy down and fetched him a hot bowl of stew. Having just eaten their lunch themselves, she quickly cleared and cleaned the plates they had used. When the Hound returned she was sorting out an old cloak for the boy to use on his return journey, and choosing her warmest shawls and scarf for herself.

The rain was coming at them sideways when they set off. Their cloaks instantly sodden, but she could not wait. She must see Jon. Their ride was slow, not least because the ground underfoot was dangerous in the wet, but because the boy followed them on his now tired palfrey. 

When they finally stepped inside the great hall of the keep she was overcome to see her brother. He had changed, matured. Bearded and older. A jaded look to him but strong, more manly than he had been. They embraced and Jon looked sideways at the Hound with an unsure eye.

‘I’d heard you’d married” Jon said.

“Yes, yes – we can speak about that later. Tell me why you are here? We’d heard you were lord commander of the Night’s Watch.”

“My watch has ended. I have relinquished command. I intend to retake Winterfell from Ramsey Bolton; to gather the north and strengthen it once more. The north faces a threat greater than any it has ever known. An army approaches from beyond the wall. To face it we need Winterfell strong, and the north stronger. Lyanna has just promised men for the cause. Will you join us? You are the true Stark. Your voice is needed to build an army now and in the future.”

Sansa stood quiet when Jon had finished, taking in all he had said. She knew he needed her. That the men of the north needed her. That it was her duty. She turned and looked at the Hound. She saw shock in his eyes. “I must talk to my husband.” Was her simple reply.

She and the Hound removed themselves from the hall to talk. She took his hand and said “I will tell you what I want. I want what we have. I want you and our simple life, but the choice is not my own to make. I must do what duty dictates. I must help lead the north.” 

He nodded resignedly. “It’s as it should be little bird. Best tell your brother.”

Jon was pleased with her decision and they sat down to discuss his plans. Together they sent ravens calling nearby Stark banner men the Manderleys, Glovers and Cerwyns to arms. Jon had already gathered an army of free folk from north of the wall and northerners from the gift, and with Lyanna’s men he planned to march on Winterfell, with or without the other banner men’s support. Weather was against them, the winter drawing in. He felt the attack must happen immediately. Sansa felt it would be prudent to wait, to shore up support from their former banner men, to turn them back to Stark even though their parents were no longer with them to lead, but Jon was adamant there would be no waiting. 

She agreed to follow them to battle and pledged the Hound’s sword. She could see the look in Jon’s eye. A lack of trust in the man. She said “No-one knows my husband as well as I. You will never find a more loyal nor trustworthy man. He has supported me since long before even I knew. I would never have made it out of Kings Landing alive if it weren’t for him. I am grateful to have earned his love.”

She could see by Jon’s face that he doubted. He said, “He has a reputation which precedes him. It is hard to set aside.”

From the corner of her eye Sansa could see the Hound crossing the hall, a small boy chewing on a raw carrot was eying him with evil intent. Having seen such a scene play out many times before she motioned to Jon and said. “Watch.” 

As the Hound walked past the boy, the boy leapt to his feet and stabbed him in the side with his carrot. The Hound swept the boy up over his shoulder like a sack, the boy now hanging behind him stabbing him repeatedly in the back. The Hound took several more steps before dropping to his knees, thrusting the boy to safety and falling flat on his face dead. The mighty Hound brought down by a carrot dagger. Other boys saw the fall and piled upon his back, punching him and waving their arms in victory.

Jon’s eyebrows were raised watching the scene play out. Smiling Sansa said, “I gather you are not fully aware of his reputation then?” 

“You will have his sword and the men he has trained, and be glad of it in the end.” She finished.

They stayed at the keep that night, it being too dark and too wet to return to their home. As she climbed into bed next to the Hound she knew they would likely only see their little home once more before setting off. The Hound pulled her close, she felt he understood her pain. “It will be alright little bird. We may not have our home any longer, but you are my home. We will build a new life together again.”


	35. Hound

As he slid amongst the furs next to her, inside their small tent, he knew every day together counted more than it ever had. She had seen too much sorrow in her life and he was acutely aware that he did not wish to add to it. The host was making good progress towards Winterfell, the battle was imminent, and although he had always had a healthy respect for his own life in these situations, surviving had never been more important to him. 

He reached for the comfort of her breast, and pulled her close. Her cheeks wiggled into his hips encouragingly, as she lay on her side beside him her head tucked up under his chin. He kissed the back of her head and said “Do you want something?” She hummed her approval and he started slowly grinding his cock into her rump. 

“Hmm” came her sleepy affirmation encouraging him to continue and moving her top leg forward to give him better access. He ran his hand along the curve of her hip, before reaching down to brush his fingers over her inner thighs, letting his thumb graze her folds. He snuggled his face into her hair, breathing in her scent. Lightly stroking her folds, he gently parted them placing himself at her entrance, pushing her upper body away from him a little so he could slowly enter her. Her sleepy moans of satisfaction warming his blood. He slowly drew himself near out and pushed slowly back in, careful to be tender in his attention.

He loved having her hard and fast, but sometimes slow and soft was what he wanted. He wanted her to feel his love, not his passion, the slow rub of his manhood inside her somehow spelling that out. His hand moved to her shoulder squeezing it slightly, before he slid it down her back firmly massaging her spine. Her hips were joining his internal massage with a gentle rocking tilt and, running his hand back up her spine, he firmly squeezed her neck in unison with his internal rub. 

His rub increasing mildly in pace her breathing increasing with it. He reached around to cup her breast gently again and took hold of her nipple. Something wasn’t right, didn’t feel right? The size and texture was different. It stopped him dead, which roused her awake fully. “What’s the matter?” she asked. 

“It’s your nipple, it’s different.” He said – “Actually your breast is firmer too, larger even.”

“Oh” she replied, taking his hand and moving it to her belly. He yanked it away the moment he touched it, as if burnt him.

“How long have you known?” he asked, tensely.

Apprehensively she answered “Almost five moons.”

He pulled himself out and shunted himself backwards. Sitting up, shaking his head he said. “And when were you going to tell me?” 

She’d turned around to face him, reaching for him. “I knew it would worry you as soon as I missed my first moon blood. I didn’t want you to fear for me, or for it. So I kept myself away from you each moon, let you think that I bled. I did it for you, so not to worry you.” She was looking at him imploringly.

He was angry. “How could you? Why would you come here - the journey? I’d never have allowed it had I known.” Shaking his head in disbelief.

She was nodding. “I know, but I had to come. I am fine. The baby is fine. It will be born at Winterfell. A Clegane of Winterfell.” A hopeful tone in her voice, he thought trying to sway him from his mood.

He was standing now. Pulling on his breeches. Rummaging for his shirt and tunic. She spoke “Don’t go. Please.” 

He stood frozen, looking at her blankly. “I’ll be back. I need a moment.” He said, suddenly reaching for his boots and pulling them on. He thrust his cloak over himself, pulled back the tent flap and stepped out into the cold night air. 

The air wasn’t any warmer inside the tent, but somehow it felt icier in his lungs once outside. He strode off down the columns, just needing to move for blood to reach his brain. He’d never been really angry at her before, frustrated as hell most definitely but true anger never. This was absolute anger and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. He felt betrayed by her; hurt. He heard her reasons for deceiving him, he understood them even, but it didn’t make her right. He turned and paced back up the column of tents.

He would have worried, nothing surer. Fretting everyday it grew within her. That was his right as a husband, as a father. Gods a father! He would be a father, and soon, and he had to bloody well face a battle any day knowing that. Seven hells, how was he supposed to do that? He turned again, marching back down the column and kicking the dirt in frustration. If it wasn’t already bad enough knowing he may die leaving her, now he would leave a child. One he would never see, never hold, never know. Fuck!

He spun on his heel and paced back up the column. He wanted to see it though, his child – their child. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! He said forcefully under his breath. Something moved, he turned to see her wrapped in a cloak, tears running down her face the moist sheen catching in the moonlight.

“I am sorry” she sobbed. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t mean to. I meant to save you pain.”

He stood for a while just taking the look of her in. It was pointless being angry at her. He couldn’t maintain it, not seeing her tears. To see her in tears shattered the wall inside him. “Go back inside,” he said “I’m coming.” Although he didn’t want to.

When he stepped back inside she was sitting on the furs, cloak still wrapped about her wiping her tears. “Get under the furs, you need to keep warm.” He said. “You both need to keep warm.” And he allowed himself the smallest of smiles, more to force a change in sentiment than a display of any genuine emotion.

When he crawled back under the covers he pulled her close again and tentatively placed his hand on her belly. She placed her hand on top of his. “All will be well.” She said.


	36. Sansa

The so called ‘Battle of the Bastards’ had been fierce. The title an untruth. Ramsay Snow had been deeded naturalisation by his father Rouse prior to his own death; Ramsay Bolton now holding both Winterfell and the Dreadfort as the only true Bolton.

Lyanna had joined the host, and had been on a small white horse by Jon’s side as he parlayed on the battlefield with Ramsay prior to the battle. Jon and Ramsay returned to their opposing sides. The young bear made her way up the hillock above the field to watch with Sansa in horror as Ramsay commenced battle by releasing and then shooting dead with an arrow Sansa’s youngest brother Rickon. Ramsay had held him hostage after finding he had in fact not been killed during the previous sacking of Winterfell as everyone had been lead to believe. In the moment the arrow hit, it felt as if it had hit Sansa’s own heart, she was numb already and the battle was only beginning. She felt as if she were viewing the scene through someone else’s eyes, as if it were not real but some warped fantasy playing out before her.

The vision was beyond her comprehension, the fear on her young brother’s face burnt into her mind to haunt her forever. Jon had ridden into battle immediately when he saw it unfold to try and save their brother, but he was too late and Rickon lay dead on the ground. What followed was an intense battle with gains and losses on both sides, but in the end Ramsay had the upper hand and all hope was lost. She had stood watching the Hound fight viciously, slashing down as many men as he could, but they were outnumbered and Jon had fallen. So many men had fallen, their bloody bodies piled high upon each other whilst others where stomped into the mud. The smell of blood and guts wafted up the hill and assaulted her nose.

Sansa felt the blood drain from her heart surveying the scene knowing that the Hound would surely die before her eyes at any moment. Instead she heard the sound of thundering hoof beats and over the crest of the hill appeared the Knights of the Vale, riding in to boost Jon’s forces at the most crucial of moments, and incomprehensively the course of the battle turned and it was won. The Starks were returned to Winterfell. 

Had she herself not sent a last minute raven to Petyr Baelish when leaving Bear Island, all would have been lost – her husband, Jon, Winterfell and its army. Petyr had grown up with her mother, as ward of her mother’s family, and had recently married her mother’s sister. The untimely death of Sansa’s aunt had raised Petyr to Lord Protector of the Vale, and his forces had now protected them in their direst of moments. 

She had fallen to the ground in the end, her legs unable to stand her near broken heart at the loss she had come so near to witnessing. When she had come to herself again, she had harried down on to the battlefield to find the Hound. He was alive, some new scars added to his gnarled skin, exhausted beyond all measure and elated to have her in his arms. She was crying uncontrollably. They had sunk down on to the ground together in their relief, the Hound stretching out to rest. She could not take her eyes from him and in that moment felt she never would again. He’d opened his eyes and looked up at her kneeling over him and smiled, placing his hand upon her belly.

When they had later made their way through the gates of Winterfell she lost her legs from underneath her again, but this time her husband was by her side to catch her. She was home. It felt as if she had spent a lifetime away, and in many ways she had. The castle was damaged during its occupations. Carpenters would be busy for a long time restoring the galleries, but it was home. The Starks had returned. Their men cut down and burnt the Bolton banners which hung around the courtyard, and Sansa watched with relief as their own wolf banner was unfurled.


	37. Hound

She was standing before the fireplace in her shift and shawl, the light of the fire making the shift translucent and he wondered how he had not noticed the child within her. There was definitely a rounded belly there and her breasts much fuller.

“Could you scrub my back?” he asked. The chamber he bathed in was larger than their entire home on Bear Island had been. He was used to castles well enough, but he had never been the resident of such a superior room himself. It lacked the opulence of the Red Keep but Winterfell had a solid affluence to it, in a traditional tough northern way.

She’d smiled at him with such gentle love, such genuine affection warming his heart and walked over to the tub where he bathed, picked up a cloth, and dipped it in the water to lather it. He leaned forward. Her hand began sweeping firm circles soothing his back.

“Do you have pain?” she asked.

“None that is not made better by your presence little bird” he replied. “I have never had such attention after a battle. It definitely improves the experience.” 

“Your bruises look better. Your wounds are healing well also. You look good.” She ended definitively, splashing water at him to finish her task.

He leaned back against the edge of the bath again. Smiling up at her he reached for the bottom of her shift, slid his hand between her legs, moved it slowly up glancing over her mound and let it rest upon her belly. “You look good yourself.” He winked, and asked. “Do you have a feeling what it is?” Twisting his hand so it could glide over the full curve of her belly.

“No. No strong feeling.” She said twitching her nose and shaking her head. “I can see you with a boy, playing rough teaching swordsmanship, but I too can see you with a girl. Treating her far too well and protecting her fiercely.” Laying her hand on his head and running her fingers through his hair.

He pursed his lips and twisted his mouth. “Perhaps you are not wrong there. I think a daughter will destroy my reputation forever. The Hound may become a lap dog.” 

She bent forward to kiss him. “We need the snarling Hound yet. There are more battles to be won. Jon is sure of it.” She said.

His hand wandered to her breast. “Gods, those nipples are fabulous now.” He said, intentionally changing the subject.

She giggled, her eyes widening with surprise. “I know. They changed so quickly. One day they were nipples I recognised, and seemingly the next they were bigger, rosy and juicier.” Leaning forward and kissing him.

“Gods, you’ve made me hard hearing you talk about them like that.” He said.

She grinned, saying “good” and pushed herself backwards out of reach. He stood up to pursue her, stepping out of the tub and reaching for her. She stepped further back and pulled the neck of her shift down to playfully reveal a lily white breast, before covering it again. He took another step towards her, and she again stepped back, this time shaking her head and pulling at the neck of her shift to reveal the other breast whilst grabbing the fabric at her crotch and quickly gathering it up in her fingers to display her legs. “You’re wet” she said.

“I hope you are.” He said as he lunged. 

She ran and leapt on to the bed. Standing upon it smiling, breast still bared and long legs a spectacle of a pathway to pleasure, taunting him. “I can see you want it Hound.” She said teasingly. 

He grabbed her and tossed her down on to the bed. She laughed heartily, as a sudden fear overtook him and he sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“What have I done?” She asked concerned.

“It’s nothing you have done, it’s me. It’s what I could do. I could hurt you.” He said worried.

She crawled up behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Nonsense. A loving tussle will do me no harm.” She kissed his back, and climbing off the bed to reach for a towel spoke again. “I know you have had little time to get used to me being with child, but I feel strong and well. You have done me no harm to this point when you have played unawares. You’ll not hurt me now.” She was drying him now. “Come, lay yourself down.” 

He’d done as told. Kneeling on the bed next to him, her hands started gliding over his body stretched out before her. “It is you that is more delicate at this moment – more at risk of pain.” She pressed down hard on a bruise with a finger. He winced, she smiled “See, you are fragile. Massive but fragile.” She kissed him deeply on the mouth, and lent back on her heels again. 

He could feel her hands hovering over his body, close enough to emit their heat, but not quite touching, except where strong hairs grew upon him. He could feel her hands grazing the hairs sending small shock waves along them and down into his skin. Her hands skirted past his manhood, and she looked to his eyes. Taking hold of his wrists she said. “If you worry so about hurting me, then then perhaps you should not touch me.” She pushed his arms above his head. “Don’t touch me.” She ordered, gathering her long hair into one hand and holding it like a brush. 

It felt so sensual as she delicately painted his body with it, tracing out each muscle, each scar. The gentle tickle inflaming him throughout. He had felt compelled to touch her and put his arm out to grope her bottom. Grabbing his wrist, she pushed it back over his head. “No” she said. She pushed apart his legs and ran her hair up his inner thigh, again skirting past his manhood and back down the other leg. Blood was coursing to his cock and she kissed him again. His arms reflexively encircling her. “No” she said more firmly and pushed them away to rest above his head again. This time she took her hair and ran it under his feet, he winced at the tickle his feet bucking away from the source. 

As she painted her brush along the length of his inner leg he watched her breast hang temptingly but he knew better than to give into it. The desire to touch the silken skin intense, forcing him to focus on the brush travelling up his leg. When it reached his balls he could not watch, the anticipation so great. The gentle tickle touched and he stiffly propelled his body into the mattress, his eyes slammed shut and his head tipped back. The sensation as she brushed up his shaft and over his knob was powerful, and when her wet mouth delicately encased his knob and her tongue rolled over it so deliciously he found himself begging “Can I touch you now?” His frustration gripped him.

She didn’t reply, instead he felt her straddle him, her legs kneeling either side of his waist, his hard cock rubbing against her wet cunt, as she rubbed up against him. He watched her remove her shift. She leaned forward running her hands up his torso to his arms above his head, firmly pushing them into the pillows as she let her hard nipples graze against him. 

Kissing him hard, his tongue responded in kind, thrusting deeply, twisting urgently meeting her call. She pulled back a little, sucking his lip into her mouth before firmly biting it. His desire was overwhelming him and when she suddenly said “now” his arms shot to her arse, squeezing it hard. He gathered her breast into his mouth and suckled it hard too. His tongue urgently flicking the nipple. Her satisfied groan, increased his heat and his hands went to her waist and lifted her off him, dropping her on to the bed beside him.

He rolled over to be above her, using his knees to push her legs apart and he pulled her arms above her head, and pinned them there with one hand. He suckled her breast again, the warm pleasure it gave washing over him, bumping his cock repeatedly at her entrance, until it found its way through her folds and thrust in with one hard push. It took her breath away, and he looked to her face to judge if it was pleasure or pain. Pleasure, definitely pleasure – his satisfied grin was broad. Her desire carved into her being, he began to pound. There was no easing into it, no slow sliding in and out. He wanted her hard, he wanted her now. 

Her legs bent up, hooking over his shoulders, and he was pounding her for all his worth, his only thought to reach that peak, that peak he yearned. The pleasure his pounding gave written all over her face with each hard thrust, those soft white breasts bouncing to their rhythm. His cock wanted her, wanted every thrust, and thrust he did. Over and over again. Hard, hard, hard, hard. She could take it, and by gods he would give it. Hard, hard, hard, hard. 

“Are you there?” he asked. “Soon” she said. “Harder” she begged. He found another level within him, and after a several thrusts he felt that familiar solid sudden clench of her cunt, it sent him over the edge and he exploded within her, her cunt contracting again and extracting all of his seed.

He waited, still breathing in much needed air and the moment, and began slowly rocking in and out of her, before he leant back and carefully lifted her legs from his shoulders, leaning forward again to draw a breast into his mouth once more. Her peak was still echoing within her and she relished the hard suck. Her arms freed, she put her hands to his head and rolled her fingertips over his scalp as her own head slowly tossed side to side in pleasure. 

Both still panting, he pulled his hips back, allowing his cock to snake out of her and rest on her thigh. He let it trail her lightly, leaving a wet path as he kissed her sweetly before collapsing on to his side next to her. 

He could feel a customary hankering for sleep and rolled her over to haul the covers out from beneath her. Rolling her back into his arms and covering them both. He breathed some deep satisfying breaths and let the sleep take him.


	38. Sansa

In the words of my beloved, buggery fuck! Sansa thought as she stood next to Jon as he attempted to address a gathering of the northern lords. It was a rowdy affair and Jon was trying so hard to convince them of the need for the north to join together as one to face a common enemy north of the wall, but no-one was listening. He was ‘pissing into the wind’ as the Hound would say. The consensus seemed to be they were unproven young upstarts and not even Starks, John being a bastard and she now a Clegane, and as such unworthy of the legacy of power the family had been granted through the ages.

Winning the Battle of the Bastards had seemed such a supreme victory at the time and here we were so soon after facing a battle of words not swords. Perhaps Jon would be doing better if he brandished his about a bit. The lords all seemed eager to fill the void themselves left by the loss of Stark leadership or operate independently; consolidation seemed a fantasy.

Then Lyanna Mormont had risen to speak. She had such presence, such power. A true bear through and through. She openly shamed certain families for not answering the recent call to arms, and the lords were listening. You could feel the dishonour in the families involved leeching into the room with their every breath. To have their lack of courage displayed in front of all the northern lords was painful enough, but to have the matter raised by a child, and worse by a girl-child who had answered the call herself, it was incomprehensible. Sansa struggled not to smirk, and made sure not to look to her husband in fear he may invoke a visible reaction in her. She already loved Lyanna for what she had given her in her time of need, but now it was entrenched as if written in stone. 

The bear wasn’t finished, she continued to hold the floor and made a rousing speech about the north remembering and knowing no other king but the King of the North whose name is Stark. She didn’t care Jon was a bastard, that Ned Stark’s blood ran through his veins and he was her king from this day until his last. Sansa was dumbstruck, not least because of Lyanna’s words but because of the effect they had. You could see them strike the hearts of all who were present and suddenly the call went up “King of the North”. It was repeated loud and strong, and having only moments before been shot down in the gathering for being a bastard, Jon now stood as a king. 

They had all bent the knee to him, placing him immediately into a position of power and responsibility, and thrusting him into high treason with anyone who sat upon the iron throne in Kings Landing. 

Sansa could barely believe what she had witnessed. Confident in Jon’s ability to lead, he had of course been Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, she did find herself cautious of his capacity to suddenly make kingly decisions. It was an extraordinary position to find themselves in, and he did seem to be blinded by the threat from beyond the wall. 

He had lacked restraint before, rushing into battle without shoring up sufficient support. Now he seemed intent on obtaining a supply of dragon glass to use in defence against the army north of the wall. Jon felt he had no choice but travel south and treat with the Queen of Dragons to obtain it. This lead to some tense moments between them. She felt the move risky not least because the queen was an unknown quantity, but to leave the north unattended when it had only just been brought together was to leave it in a precarious position. Given time to reflect some lords may think better of their vote of confidence in the Stark name. Jon would not hear her concerns, instead appointing her Warden of the North in his absence. 

He did not hesitate to travel south, and she was left to plan for the north’s immediate future. It was a lot to take on. She had not told her brother of the child within her, and she felt had he known he may not have left her in such a powerful position. She knew she had the skills and understanding to run a great house, she had been readied for it her whole life, but to be Warden of the North was so much more. It filled her time and mind. She had to make plans to prepare Winterfell for the battles to come, as well as ensure the survival of their people during an extended winter. 

She called for supplies of crops to be held at Winterfell where surrounding smaller keeps could fall back to in their hour of need, behind Winterfell’s stronger walls. She ordered repairs and improvements to be made to Winterfell itself, to give it further strength against attack. It had been an obvious decision to appoint the Hound as overseer of production of armour, weaponry and training in warfare. Their daily life was suddenly vastly different to the life they had enjoyed on Bear Island. They barely saw each other by day and by night they came together and had endless discussions about the business of winter and war. All whilst her belly grew. 

She was sitting by the fire one evening looking over the maester’s list of requirements to tend to the expected wounded when she felt a solid kick. She beckoned her husband to her side and placed his hand where the kick had been, and waited quietly.

“Bugger me!” The Hound exclaimed when the child kicked again. “What must that feel like from inside?”

“It’s hefty indeed.” She said smiling up at him. He had bent down and kissed her, then knelt beside her awaiting another movement now with both his hands covering her belly.

She became reflective. For all she had understood she was with child, the movements she now felt daily made it more real, more imminent. Childbirth was a dangerous task for any woman. There was no more dangerous a time in any woman’s life. She spoke to him. “Should I not survive our child’s birth, you will tell it how I loved it, how I loved you. You must tell it how we loved each other.”

He pulled away. She could see the look of bafflement about him. “How can you speak of such things?” He asked.

“I must.” She said. “I must know you will do as I ask. You will do as I ask, won’t you?”

He was shaking his head, seemingly trying to rid himself of the thought. “I can’t talk about it.” He said.

“We must. I must know. I must know my child will know the love I felt for it and you. I implore you.” She said.

“It will.” He nodded. “I will tell it of our adventures, and our love. How strong its mother’s spirit was, how clever she was and how big her heart, but I will not talk of this with you again. Never. Do you understand?” He said. “I cannot talk of being without you. I will not.” He looked at her with a determination she recognised and she knew not to raise it again.

As her time drew nearer she felt like a fur seal, round and beached upon a shore. He didn’t seem to find her any less attractive, in fact the opposite. He revelled in the touch of her, the shape she had become. It required a certain amount of compromise to satisfy their appetite for one another. She loved it when she lay on her side and he took her from behind, his hand reaching over and resting on the side of her enormous belly. His touch so careful and loving. It created a oneness, a soft edge to their passion. 

Her breasts were heavy and he lavished them with attention, in truth they craved it, but she did reach a point that although fearful of the birth itself she wished it over with. The intruder in her body had become burdensome. Still it was with trepidation that she noticed the subtle signals that the birth would be within days. She didn’t tell him of them, and when the contractions started very mild and far apart she did not draw them to his attention. Instead she carried on as normal. She had had many long talks with the midwife and other women who had born children and she knew fully what to expect. Nothing would happen in a rush, there was no point making him anxious.

On the second evening of contractions he noticed the change. 

“You are flushed, little bird. Breathing heavily at times. Are you well?” He’d asked.

“Perhaps not.” She’d replied. “Fetch me the midwife.” 

His eyes had widened and he’d tripped as he crossed the room to call for a maid to have the midwife brought to them. He paced the floor, then knelt next to her as she sat in a chair by the fire. Then become anxious and paced again. 

“Fret not husband. It will be a long night yet.” She said, wincing slightly with the pain. 

His relief was obvious when the midwife had arrived. Sansa had lay upon the bed whilst the midwife felt the position of the babe and, after looking under Sansa skirts, the midwife agreed they had a long night ahead of them. She’d suggested walking to hurry things along. 

So they’d paced the passageways of Winterfell for hours. Her leaning on his arm, stopping when she needed to lean on the cold stonewall and breathe through the pain, balancing and rocking up on her toes to try and escape it. When she felt she could walk no more they returned to their chamber to the waiting midwife. Stepping inside the room she felt a pop and a great gush of fluid ran down her leg. The midwife tried to scurry the Hound from the room, but he would have none of it.

“Make yourself useful then, and help your lady wife undress and sit upon the stool.” The midwife had ordered when she realised there would be no point battling him. He’d gladly done it and stripped her to her shift. The midwife had been pleased with their efforts and peering up through the birthing stool declared the baby would be born that night.

She was getting such heat with her contractions, like her body was a fire. Time seemed to have no meaning. The candles burned down at a seemingly increased speed. There were one after another contraction to get through and she was getting tired. 

He’d climbed upon the bed, so she could sit between his legs and lean back upon him to rest between the pains. She could feel the comfort of his solid strength behind her, hugging her. With not an inkling of pain in her body until the next wave would hit, she would lean into him closing her eyes and almost sleep for an instant. Then that sensation would suddenly rise within her and another pain would hit strong and hard, forcing her to lean forward into it, his hand stroking her back soothingly. 

When the pains were very strong and seemingly giving her no rest between she had an urge to be upright on her knees. So she stood on her knees upon the bed. Falling forward on to a pile of pillows in front of her for the briefest of rests between the pains. He stood one foot upon the floor one knee on the bed, beside her at all times, his arm crooked for her to grip with pain, the other wrapped behind her rubbing her back and hip. Pulling her back from the pillows to be upright on her knees when the pains hit each time. 

She’d felt an overwhelming urge to push, so she did. She pushed strongly with each pain, as if her life depended on it. When she’d flopped forward to rest again for the umpteenth time, the midwife had lifted her shift and peaked between her legs. “The head comes” she announced. The Hound, remained silently strong. She herself wanted no noise. “Push with all you have, my lady. With the next pain you must push.” The midwife had said. It felt like she had already being doing so, but when the next pain came, so did the burn. 

The burn was horrific, terrifying and she found more strength within her to push it away. Another few pushes and the head was out, and then a shoulder and before she knew she was staring down on to the bed where her child lay beneath her between her knees. It had been such a relief when it slid out. She started shaking a little, but the Hound was holding her upright. She caught her breath as the midwife picked up the child, and she’d turned herself around to sit and rest against the pillows. She held her child with amazement. The midwife putting it to her breast. She still felt other-worldly when she delivered the child’s gift of life. It felt as if she would never enter the real world again.

The Hound had stepped backwards and fallen into a chair once the child was born. She couldn’t tell if it was fear or joy that had felled him. He was breathing heavily as if he hadn’t taken a breath in long time. Perhaps he hadn’t, but when he recovered himself he joined her upon the bed. Again positioning himself behind her so she could lean back into him. His chin resting upon her shoulder watching his son at her breast. He was by no means a small babe, not when compared to other new babes, but he was tiny to them.

A blush of reddish hair upon his head, blue eyes clear and true. Strong lungs had let out some mewling wails before he found his mother’s nipple, and like his father he relished it.


	39. Hound

He’d known of course there was a child within her, but to see it in her arms was a whole other thing. It suckling her breast, the glow of her skin still flushed by exertion but a tired happy calmness about her. It was beyond anything he had ever witnessed.

He had watched a greater battle than any sword play he had ever been involved in. The length of her struggle, the power and strength of her, the fruit her efforts bore had quite overwhelmed him and that was before his son had opened his eyes. To see the eyes of little bird look out from a child they had made together, he could find no words within him to describe it.

The child’s feet were enormous. He would be tall like me, he had thought, but his hair was that of his mother. The snuffling he made as he ravaged her breast was endearing, and the three had sat together quite overcome by their new family.

He’d taken her long hair in his hands and run his fingers through it, smoothing it aside so he could caress her neck. The thought had come to him instantly, and he quietly said to her “He will be Eddard, won’t he? After your father, Eddard Clegane.” Her reply was immediate. It had taken no thought.

“No.” She said. “He will be Sandor, for his own father.” Turning her head to look up at him.

He was taken aback. The thought had never occurred to him that anyone would seek to name a child after him, not with all he had done, all he had been in his life. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Never surer.” She said kissing him. “He is yours and mine. He is your son to love and mould.” She said smiling.

When she first handed him the child, nerves overcame him as the small bundle approached his hands, but when little Sandor was there weightlessly resting in the grasp of his father’s spreading fingers he knew he would not hurt the babe, that he had it within him to be gentle and sure of his hold. There was not much to the boy, so small, so new but he already had secured his place in the life they shared and brought more to it than he could fathom.

Sandor, son of Sandor. A child of the north, and yet further reason for his father to survive the upcoming war to end all wars.


	40. Epilogue - Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THANKS for the comments. I have a tendancy to click on the names when I have a chance and check out other writers. It helps me find gold amongst this vast archive.

“Do you think I don’t remember being a buggering lad? I may be old, but I am not bloody senile. I know exactly what is on that boy’s mind, and it isn’t damnable horses.” The Hound had said emphatically. He was pacing the room, seething with annoyance.

“She’s young, in love. Let her have some fun.” Sansa said.

“Don’t bloody speak to me of love. It’s lust on that boy’s mind, and nothing more. His cock is ruling his brain. She should have been back hours ago. You should have told me sooner that she hadn’t returned.” He said scowling at her.

“Calm down husband. Sand is with her.” 

What bloody good is he? He’ll be just as bloody horny as his mate and no doubt have some girl in a haystack instead of watching his sister. I have seen the way that boy looks at Birdie. I know what it means woman!” He said, still pacing and now fidgeting with an ornament he had removed from the mantle.

Sansa was looking up at him from the chair that she sat in, saying “His father is an honourable man. He’ll make sure they are not left to their own devices for too long.”

He looked at her with incredulity. “Gods woman, too long – it would take but a moment for that boy to deflower her. His seed would shoot forth as quick as a cough. Argh, the thought – I’ll cut his fucking balls off and stuff them up his arse!”

Getting firm in her speech, Sansa replied. “Would you calm down please!”

He put the small ornament down abruptly and said, “I’ll wait no more for them,” and strode out of the room. 

 

She did have a point, he pondered as he rode Warrior. The boy’s father, Leo Walter, was an honourable and agreeable man, putting many hours into breeding a new destrier for him from his beloved stallion Stranger. They’d spent much time together discussing the attributes the mare should have. Once Stranger was put over the chosen mare and finally a colt produced, they’d spent many more hours together watching it in the fields, discussing the right training for it before it would be old enough to come home to him. That was the bloody problem right there. He should have left Birdie at home when he visited. All those hours she’d spent in Walter’s son’s company had brought them to this.

He wore his sword slung across his back to menace the boy, rather than with any real intent of using it, intimidation was assured. He was not far from Winterfell on the way to the stud to seek them out when he’d come across the three of them laughing as they rode. 

Sand, having seen eight and ten name days, was as tall as his father and just as broad, but not yet as solid. He lacked the muscle his father had built over many years of sword fighting, but he was well on his way to having it. His golden red hair reached his shoulders and shone like his mother’s. He had a personality reminiscent of her, likeable and quick to smile. A face more like his own, had it not been ruined by fire and weathered by time. His strong masculine jaw had the ability to grow a good beard already should he choose. 

He sought to replicate his father’s skills and spent endless hours training, performing well at tourneys as a result. The Hound hoped that Sand would not have to test his skills at war. That his son would never see the scenes he himself had, nor earn the scars to body and mind. He wanted better for Sand, he wanted him to retain the deep and genuine laugh the young man had. To enjoy his youth. He was handsome and charming for certain, and was rarely seen without one if not two maidens upon his arm.

Birdie and the boy rode the Walter boy’s horse together. Her horse on a lead walking beside them.

His gaze could have melted stone staring at the arm wrapped around his daughter’s small waist. “What’s going on here then? You should have been home hours ago.” He rumbled sternly. 

“Greetings Father.” Birdie said with a bright tone, attempting to sooth his obvious annoyance. “We were on our way now, as you can see. Brom has come too, he wanted to talk to you.”

“And what words has the boy got to say to me?” The Hound said curtly.

Brom looked stunned. He clearly hadn’t anticipated being put on the spot. “I prefer that we talk back at Winterfell, if it pleases you my lord.” He quietly said.

The Hound squinted at him, grumbling “So be it. I’ll be in my chambers. Hurry home.” Before turning Warrior suddenly and galloping off.

His bad mood had been placated somewhat when he’d arrived at the stables to find his three youngest children playing. They had run to embrace him, when he swung down off his horse. “Where have you been father?” The children quickly asked. 

“No-where important. Just trying to hurry your sister home. She’ll be along shortly, so don’t delay her you rat-bags!” He said smiling as he rummaged his fingers through their hair before passing Warrior’s reins to a stable boy.

“Have you calmed down yet?” Sansa asked as he entered the room. “Hmm” he said in a tone implying he had, but not fully.

“Brom wants to talk to me. I can only guess what that is about.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“He’ll want her hand. I told you they are in love.” Sansa replied matter-of-factly.

“She’s bloody young. Only just six and ten.” He gruffly replied, adding “Can’t say I’m bloody happy about it.”

“Really Sandor, I was five and ten when I fell in love with you? I have no regrets about that. Six children later and one on the way. I’d call that a successful union.” She said, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head.

“You were different.” He said. “You’d lived more. Knew good from bad. How’s he going to support her?” Eyes piercing her, expectantly.

“His father’s stud is very successful. The wealthy come from all over Westeros to buy horses from him, mate their mares or gain use of his stallions. The boy has learnt his father’s trade very well. Their future would be sound.” She said brushing him off.

The Hound, twisted his lips annoyed. “He’s spent too much time around bloody rutting animals. That’s what’s made him want her so.”

Exasperated Sansa replied firmly. “Sandor! You cannot deny they have a bond. They’ve been smitten since childhood. You can grumble all you want, but I for one support the union. You know I would never marry her off to some unknown lord. You are just upset that your beloved daughter will leave your nest, and perhaps love another more than you.” Adding soothingly “At least she will be close by.”

He made a sound under his breath, which could pass for unwilling acceptance of what she was saying, but he wasn’t about to say it aloud.

“You’d better drink some wine before they come. It may mollify your outlook.” She said knowingly.

He poured himself a goblet and drank it down in one go. Pouring another, he turned to her. “It’s just it has all gone so fast. The time since she was born I mean. You told me once that having a daughter would change me, and when Sand was born I thought you were wrong. That having a child changed me, but as soon as I saw her, I knew you’d been right.” He finished, taking a large gulp of his drink.

She looked at him with an almost sorry expression. “You have other daughters to focus on. Isolde has a year or so yet before she discovers boys, and Matilda is so very young still. Just be happy for Birdie. Be happy that she has a good, kind young man. Put yourself into his shoes. Love is not something that you can deny. He loves her, he wants her. What would you have felt if you’d been denied my love had my parents still been living?”

He looked at her and knew it to be true. His whole life would have been a different story had her parents been alive to deny them their future. Sipping at his wine he sat down in a chair beside her. She was embroidering a large panel for their wall. He couldn’t help but remember their time together on the boat, watching her stitch the small picture of a hound and a bird, and the joy he had felt when she lay it over their hands at the Godswood and became his wife.

Whenever he reflected over his life before leaving Kings Landing and the time since, he found it hard to comprehend. It was as if he’d been two separate people, lived two separate lives. One almost forgotten. The miserable Hound before her, and a husband and father since her. Little Bird had given him so much, she’d given him his true self and here she sat round of belly once more due to give him another child. He leaned over to kiss her.

“What have I done to deserve that?” She said.

“Everything.” Was his simple reply.

When there was finally a knock on the door, Sansa had called out to enter. “Mother, father.” Birdie said looking happy but anxious, “Brom would like to speak to you alone.” 

Sansa looked to the Hound. He blinked and tipped his head to acknowledge his acquiescence and she said “Tell him to come in.”

The boy walked in, pale and nervous and stood before them. 

“What is it you have come to say?” Sansa asked, smiling encouragingly at the boy.

He took a deep breath, and looked into the Hound’s eyes. “I have come to ask, if you will allow me to marry Bird, uh I mean Lyanna. I have come to ask if you will allow me Lyanna’s hand. I promise to love her always and pledge to take care of her.” He was finished and puffed out a breath of air in relief at having got the words out. 

“Go fetch her.” The Hound said flatly, not giving any indication of his mood.

Brom turned and opened the door. Birdie stood jittery outside, rocking back and forth on her heels. He reached for her hand and pulled her into the room.

“Well?” the girl said hopefully.

“You may marry.” The Hound said darkly, forcing a small smile.

His brunette daughter launched into his arms, to hug and kiss him. “Thank you father, thank you.” She bounced from him to wrap her arms around her delighted mother, before rushing to Brom and kissing him. Brom had a look of shock about him, as if he’d expected more. A battle of words perhaps, a need to defend his position.

“Go tell cook to prepare a feast for two nights’ time. We’ll celebrate your betrothal then.” The Hound said, smiling more genuinely at his daughter. 

She thrust herself back into his arms to kiss him again. “I will” she said softly in his ear. “Thank you.” She said to her fullest degree. Straightening herself up and stepping away, before turning and looking into his eyes and saying intensely “I love you father.” She stepped forward to kiss his forehead, then moving away again she took Brom’s hand gleefully and they hurried from the room.

As the door was closing they could hear Brom call a grateful “Thank you, my lord and lady.”

Sansa turned to her husband smiling. “See, that wasn’t so painful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an absolute blast writing my first FanFiction. I quickly discovered that however long was spent writing you could multiply it by 10 (or more) for editing. It was so hard to say goodbye to this story - I could have written an entire third part on Sand and Birdie, the image of them was so clear in my head, but leave them behind I have and moved on to a new story "Burning A Northern Winter". Thank you so much for reading, and please do let me know your thoughts. I was concerned it was a bit "sappy" but in the end was happy for a first effort.


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